This is the story of a bee named Honey. Honey lived with all the other bees inside a dead tree off highway 75. All day long, the bees would be hard at work, either making honey or guarding their queen. Uh, that is, all the bees but Honey.
Honey wasn’t like the other bees. Rather than do useful things like pollinate flowers and regurgitate sticky nectar, Honey would just spend her sweet time studying her books. She’d hover around the libraries. Or try to read a newspaper in the park without freaking out the person who was holding it. It’s not that Honey was lazy, or that she was “special.” She was just, well, a different kind of bee.
When someone would attack the hive, all the bees would go into combat mode, working together to protect their queen. Well, everyone but Honey. No, honey didn’t care for violence. She would just sit on a branch and wait for all the excitement to be over, observing her fellow beemates losing their lives. After the fight, Honey would go back into the hive to assess the damage, speaking the name of each part that was destroyed, going through every letter that made up the name, then repeating the name one more time. Yes, that’s right. Honey was a Spelling Bee, the most useless kind of bee of all.
You see, while Honey was diligently studying the most complex words in the English language, the other bees were busy learning valuable skills that would one day allow them to contribute to society and not get beaten up or ridiculed by their peers. Of course, whenever the bees needed to know how to spell a word or required a definition, there was only one place they had to turn: The dictionary. Honey was a waste of a bee.
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