In space, there are several kinds of love

Kirby Wilson

There was a ladybug infestation on the spacecraft. This fact did not bother the bitter man much at all until it did, which was when he realized ladybugs buzzed, and he could only notice the sound when there were many of them. Across from the bitter man was an entomologist, laying in bed. The entomologist knew ladybugs buzzed before the bitter man did, which is why the bitter man was bitter. 

“I’m bitter,” he said to the entomologist, “I’m very bitter toward you.” The entomologist did not acknowledge this, which made him more bitter. “Do you hear me?” He asked. “I’m bitter!” 

“Bitter, bit her, hit her, hitter!” The entomologist replied. The bitter man clapped his hands together and crushed a ladybug in the process. He flicked the squashed wings onto the metal floor. 

After this, the bitter man got out of bed and crushed several more ladybugs under his toes. He felt like he was squishing grapes. 

“This feels like grapes,” he said, and the entomologist nodded. 

“I prefer to call them ladybirds,” the entomologist said, now having a thick British accent. 

The bitter man made a noise of agreement and stepped out through the automatic ship doors and into the bright, medicalesque corridor. He made his way toward the greenhouse of the hull, avoiding meeting the eyes of the ladybugs nestled onto the walls. He stared at his feet instead, and tried to tiptoe around the rug-like patches of ladybugs on the floor. 

Next to the massive doors of the greenhouse was a gaping hole peering right into the room. The bitter man got down on his hands and knees and looked in. Ladybugs flew in and out 2 of the holes. Several of them used his face as a landing pad, but he swatted them away. Others laid eggs in his hair. There wasn’t much he could do about this. 

“I’m very bitter about you!” The bitter man shouted through the hole. He looked into a greenhouse window and saw a tornado of ladybugs, whirring around. There were more every time he blinked. 

“I wish you would go away!” The ladybugs chirped and made a noise of agreement. They seemed to be saying “bitter, bit her, hit her, hitter!” 

The bitter man did not like when things mocked him. 

He walked back toward the sleeping quarters and when he stepped through the door, he noticed the entomologist open-mouth kissing a swarm of ladybugs. They streamed openly into him and rested upon his tongue. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The bitter man said, and then stepped back out of the room. He then reentered and grabbed his pillow from his bed. As he left, the bitter man smacked his pillow repeatedly, mashing several ladybug carcases. 

The bitter man walked toward the greenhouse once again and this time entered. He set his pillow down against a pile of one thousand ladybugs, then laid down to sleep. Ladybugs crawled over him like a blanket. 

He waved his hand and caught the attention of the ladybug tornado. 

“I am bitter but I don’t hate you,” the bitter man said. The ladybug tornado, and even the individual ladybugs, did not care what the man thought of them.

Kirby Wilson is an eighteen year old freshman at Bennington College. They have been previously recognized by the YoungArts Foundation, the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and the Bennington Young Writers Awards. Their work is featured in or forthcoming in Monkeybicycle, Peach Mag, Polyphony Lit, and Fish Barrel Review.