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He had thought that money would smooth everything over. That marriage was essentially a business contract between a man and a woman, each bound to provide certain things and accept certain things.
But even the most lucrative, the most exciting businesses tended to turn stale after several decades. An infusion of fresh ideas, new blood was called for. People were let go. Sacrifices were made. And one had to be discrete lest the public image suffer.
Richard hummed under his breath as he drew his knife. Uncapping the honeycombs, he dumped them into the hand cranked honey extractor. Soon the glistening contents would ooze out; he would filter it, pour it into the glass jars, and present them to his bedridden wife. She would slather it on her morning toast, stir it into her tea, and smile at him through her confusion. Then the pain would begin again. And one day, her heart would stop.
Hundreds of bees hummed busily on their trips to and fro, between the oleander flowers and the hives that he'd built and placed below them.
"Oleander poisoning occurs when someone sucks nectar from the flowers or chews leaves from the oleander or yellow oleander plant. Poisoning can also happen if you eat honey made by bees that used the oleander plant for nectar." NY Times.com health guides
So be careful where you get your honey.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely!
Deletenicely written Lisa - very powerful
ReplyDeleteThank you David!
DeleteWow! I didn't know that the pollen was poisonous too! I read that and had a holy curse word moment.
ReplyDeleteIt seems like nothing's safe!
DeleteNow this, I didn't know and we have lots of oleander on this island.
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ReplyDeleteI've been religiously reading the O. Henry Prize anthologies every year since college, when I first began trying to write stories. Many of the authors whose work I cherish the most were people I first learned about through The O. Henry Prize Stories - and then I'd go search for their books.
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