SNA

There’s a bee buzzing around me. I try to wave it away, but it keeps coming back. I walk to the other side of the room, yet it won’t leave me in peace. There are others in the room, but the bee is just after me. I don’t know why it irritates me so much; I imagine that a bee’s sting would be only a slight nuisance, if one at all. Maybe it’s the fear of experiencing the unknown, regardless of how minor the expected pain. Suddenly it occurs to me to get a fly swatter and strike down the pest. The instrument of my desire magically appears in my hand, and I violently swing the wand towards the very rowdy bee. It appears that I hit my target, since the bee has vanished from sight, but I feel a sensation on tip of my middle finger and look down to see my finger swollen by the venom of the bee.