Sisyphean Attempts at Self-Improvement

Royals

Maya and her friends had always watched the Westbridge elite from afar.

They'd take the train past the gated communities, counting their tips from double shifts, making jokes about the marble fountains and infinity pools. They didn't need that life. They had each other, their cramped apartment, their own kind of happiness.

Until the invitation arrived.

Gold-embossed, no return address. "The Hive cordially invites you to experience a different kind of luxury."

"It's got to be a prank," Jesse said.

But the address was real. A mansion they'd never noticed before, tucked between the estates they passed daily.

They went, of course. Curiosity. Irony. The joke of it.

The door opened before they knocked. A woman in a ball gown that seemed to shift like liquid gold beckoned them in. The other guests all wore similar attire: expensive but wrong, like costumes designed by someone who'd only heard descriptions of wealth.

"Welcome," the woman said. "We've been waiting for people like you."

"People like us?" Maya asked.

"People who crave something different. Who don't want diamonds and gold. Who want real power."

She led them to a ballroom where dozens danced to music that had no source. The dancers moved in perfect synchronization, their faces blank with ecstasy.

"We were like you once," the woman explained. "Working people. Taking trains. Counting dollars. Then we found the real secret of the elite."

"Which is?"

"They're not human. Never were. But they need us. They need our bodies, our youth, our hunger. So they made us an offer."

Maya's friend Chloe laughed nervously. "What kind of offer?"

The woman's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "To rule. To become queens of our own hives. All it takes is accepting their egg."

"Their what?"

The woman opened her mouth wider, impossibly wide, and something moved in her throat. A golden, pulsing thing the size of a fist, pressing against the inside of her neck.

"One egg. It gestates for thirty days, feeding on your ambition, your dreams of power. Then you birth a new queen. And for those thirty days, you rule absolutely. Everyone obeys. Every wish fulfilled. A different kind of buzz, you might say."

Jesse backed toward the door. "We're leaving."

"But you haven't heard the best part," the woman said. "After you birth the queen, you become part of the hive forever. Dancing, serving, blissfully empty. No more counting dollars. No more envy. Just purpose."

The dancers all turned toward them, moving as one. Maya could see the scars on their throats, where something had emerged.

"We've cracked the code," they said in unison. "This is how the elite really live."

Maya ran, her friends behind her. But at the door, Chloe stopped.

"Thirty days of ruling," she said. "Of being queen."

"Chloe, no!"

But Chloe was already walking back, opening her mouth to receive what the golden woman offered.

Maya never saw Chloe again. But sometimes, on the train to work, she sees others. Young, hungry people holding gold-embossed invitations, heading to Westbridge.

She counts her dollars and stays silent, reminding herself of the fine line between fantasy and nightmare.


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521 words

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