Ben 100 WC
His bright figure loomed out of the gloom of the shadows. His nostrils flared as his bloodshot eyes stared my down. My accomplice bolted as the creature approached. He sent a thorn the size of a tree into my shoulder from his bee like tail, his symbol of his ownership. The wound burned as blood trickled down my side. In the deepest voice I could to make me sound superior through the horrific pain I defiantly screamed, “Do you know what happens to a bee after it has stung? It dies!” At that moment a shotgun fired. He came back.