Cent's Yuenyeung [ Too Much Tea, Not Enough Coffee ]

To: Cent, Realized Their Purpose

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So a long time ago, in the days when the hive was still ruled by a queen, I was but a humble drone passing the time by making stories. I was often referred to as the "Royal Talespinner," and a bee with a particular talent for performing would sometimes host events where they told my stories to the others. The first story that really caught on was the story of the Ancient One. The tree that would pick the most "worthy" sleeper every night and give them a vision of the future. It was a vague kind of worthiness that didn't really mean anything once you thought about it. But when that vague kind of worthiness exclusively applies to the bug you've been hard-wired to adore and have been working for your whole life, you kind of don't really think about it.

One day I pointed at a patch of mushrooms growing by the gas station and said that they looked a lot like human fingers. I made a whole ton of stories about them. Sometimes they were growing on top of a grave, inheriting the genes of the human that was buried there. Other times they were actually blades of grass, cast out of grass society due to their appearance. Most recently they were minions of the dark god. I guess I was the only one really enjoying playing with that concept, the rest of the hive just wanted me to stick to one explanation.

When I found out that there was a family of ants living out in the forest, my imagination went wild. I started telling stories of this team of superheroes with diverse powers and colorful personalities, saving the day from the dark god and other such malignant entities. Every week a new monster, a new battle, and a new valuable life lesson learned. I know it sounds awfully formulaic but the important part is it was a lot of fun. What the hive got from these stories, though. was that the ants in the forest were all witches.

I think the finger plants and the "witches" have essentially served as scapegoats for many of the tragedies that have occurred in that area over the years. Just last year, this butterfly named Kron (mentioned him briefly in a previous email) went missing in a snow storm. Most likely he was caught off-guard by a strong gust of wind that buried him in snow and suffocated him. Winter is such a harsh season, especially this far north, it's no wonder some bugs decide to just sleep through it all. But despite that, it was the "witches" in the forest that the hive blamed.

There is so much more I have to say about Kron, but this letter is getting way too long so it'll have to wait. I hate to keep talking about the hive when I tried to leave it behind over a month ago, but I have to get this off my mind eventually or it'll just keep gathering dust. I haven't moved anywhere since my last email. The last few days have been pretty bizarre to be honest, I haven't really made a decision on where I'm going next. I've tried to think of a way I could cross the ocean without dying to weather, waves, or starvation. It seems like such an impossible problem, but I'm not giving up yet. If all else fails, maybe I can just ask the tractor ants to build me a flying tractor. That's all from me for now.

To: Mímir, Concerned
 
 
 
 
 
 
- I Will Reply

To: Cent, Realized Their Purpose

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Yeah, that’s the funny thing about the Internet! We’re so far away that the time it would take to get to you is barely imaginable, and yet we can talk. The world is so much bigger for us than it was for humans.

It’s almost like those stars you mentioned : )

The Station was set up by ants! It’s just … there were a few more of us around then? It was right after the Burst. I don’t think anyone alive back then really knew what was happening or what was going to happen, and that must have felt like possibility as well as confusion.

Anyway, the area we’re in was a human hotel. Every morning people would emerge and sweep away the sand that blew in from the desert to cover the walkways. Ants were never able to establish much of a settlement there. But suddenly they were all gone and a new dune system was forming in/around the hotel, and that’s when ants decided to set up the research station. But I don’t think it was the only grand project that was started in those days, that wasn’t really followed through on.

They only sent me out here because I asked, you know? There’s nominal support from the colonies out on the plain, and nominal government support beyond that. But bugs are busy and there aren’t too many of us.

We have some really cool devices here for studying wind currents, though! Sure do get a lot of wind around here.

Well, how are things over on your end of this connection?

To: Aoiphyrgana, Part Of Things
 
 
 
 
 
 
- I Will Reply

Centinel spoke on the phone.

"I feel like dead weight," she muttered. "I wish you were in town for Christmas."

Mom didn't say a word. The line felt dead. The terrible microphone/speaker connection must have garbled her voice up too hard. The room was breathing. Would it matter if she spoke back? It'd be terrible to hear. Only Centinel spoke to her mom anymore, not Cent.

Slumped back against the chair. "I tried yuenyeung, and tried drinking it more, a little, but it's... I mean, it's okay. I guess the idea behind it is what I actually cared about. And that feels like a waste of time, too. I guess." Uncertainty filled the little roach. The ceiling caved itself up.

"I think you need a night to just sit back," Cent said to Centinel. She laid flat on the floor waiting for the night to go by. The line fell dead to upstate.

"Can't do that," Centinel reiterated.

"You deserve it."

"You don't deserve it," the shadow of a bug murmured, leaning further against the deck. Was Mom on the line at all? Was she speaking to nothing? "You're shitty at realizing that. Even when you're halfway through the worst time you've ever had, you decide to change the name of the project and call it good, like you're changing direction. It's still I Will Reply."

Cent sat back against the floorboards harder. The ceiling wanted to melt in. Pay attention to the world, bug. "...why are you bringing it up, still."

"Because what else IS THERE?!" Centinel screeched.

"A-Anything."

The shadow crawled around her chair until it broke, too, like the rest of the apartment.. She tore herself over the furniture as it fell apart, and ripped the monitor out from its screws. "Name one thing that makes you happy besides making. Not a fucking thing, Cent! You CAN'T BE happy without it."

"I'm w-working on it," Cent begged.

"You left behind the best thing that ever happened to you."

She jittered. She wanted to fall further into the floor.

"...and you'll leave this one behind, too."
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

You worked on that two months ago. When's the last time you made progress?

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"I don't think it's crazy to want a break."

What was Cent fooling herself for? Mom wouldn't pick up, and she wouldn't want to call. There wasn't any reason for it. Maybe she would just use the faded human's holiday to turn off her brain for another few days, and maybe she'd try not to hurt herself thinking about it. There would be no need for a roach on the run tonight, or tomorrow.

She sat weak in her chair and let herself seep into the tea.