I was 9, maybe 10 or 11 even, and me and my parents were on a hike by a river by the ocean. I was messing around like any kid, jumping off logs and all, when I kicked off of a rotten log by a fern bush I thought nothing of it when I heard a crunch. I ran to catch up with my parents, and felt a sharp poke in my butt.
I looked but couldn't see, my dad saw though, and he swatted the yellow jacket wasp off. Whatever that one wasp injected me with, was like a beacon. I didn't know I had reached their hive, but they all came for me. One tried going in my ear, but my dad got it off in time as he swatted off a bunch more on my face, legs, arms, and stomach.
My dad hit them away as he picked me up and ran back towards our then-car. My mom could hear me screaming in pain and horror in the distance, and she raced after us, barely realizing what was happening.
We rolled up my shirt and took off my pants, trying to get all the wasps off of me. I had a total of 13 stings.
500 stings could kill a child, so I was fine. But my body shook, I felt on fire.
We drove away to the nearest town, fifteen minutes away, when we got there my dad raced into the medical clinic and got me benadryl, which is bite and sting medicine, and calimine lotion. A wasp flew from my hair.
I was fine physically, other than the swelling and itchy ness, and pain on the areas I was stung, but mentally I was traumatized. I laid in a white, thin sheet when we got home, shaking and afraid, mumbling 'they're coming' quietly as I cried.

Now I hate wasps and bees.

#TraumatizingStory #Wasps #Pain #bees