When he got home, all wet and cold, he almost missed the heat of the flames. Long arms—tentacles—lashing out to him. Caressing him with vicious lust. He refused to light up the fireplace.
The smell of the smoke remained on him even after he removed his soot covered clothes. The warm water got the coldness out of his bones, but the shaking remained. It had settled somewhere deeper.
Afraid he wouldn’t get any sleep on his soft bed and thick blankets, he chose the wooden bench in the porch. For a while he could hear the sirens, sending their red-and-blue scream into the night. Then it all faded out into a soft buzz. The wasps, he realised. Humming him into drowsiness.
When he turned off the light the fireflies brought theirs to life. Thousands of little blazes flying around him. The shivering stopped. He fell asleep.
Written as my 5 minute freewrite for today's prompt! which is... wasps!
