Paper Wasp Part 2

Paper Wasp forced her wings to flap, and she took to the air, abandoning her half-started nest. I will find myself some food, and lay down under a rock. And I will sleep, for as long as I can.

And when she woke up? I don’t know what I’ll do then.

She thought of the grasshoppers: always taking, always happy, never crying.

She thought of the scorpion: never trying, never failing, always fine.

And she thought of the ant: always practical, always confident, never praying.

Maybe, she thought, maybe I’m just the saddest, silliest, and stupidest of all creatures. Maybe, if I’m lucky, my life will end before tomorrow. Then, I’ll never have to wonder again if creating is worthwhile or beauty is real.

Her wings took her deep into the forest, past tree after tree.

She’d told herself she was looking for food, though her eyes never landed on anything. Instead, she gazed into the air before her, unthinking. Mindlessly, she flew on and on.

Soon, she’d gone deeper into the forest than she’d ever been.

Her heavy heart weighed her down, until at last, she could go no further. She landed on the ground, numb to her surroundings.

Paper Wasp sat there silently. A long time or a short time, she didn’t know. But after a time, she heard a Voice whisper through her mind.

“Get up,” the Voice encouraged. “Get up, and finish your nest.”

Is that you, God? She wondered. She remembered the ant’s words and thought scornfully: It could just be in my head, my own imagination playing tricks on me.

“Get up,” the Voice said again. “Get up, and finish your nest.”

“Why bother?” Paper Wasp replied aloud. “The world is owned by the people who take, not the people who build. Someone will just come and destroy all the hard work I’ve done.”

“Get up,” the Voice said. “Get up, and finish your nest.”

“But who needs a nest?” Paper Wasp argued. “I could live wherever I feel like it, free of cares and free of work. If I don’t bother trying, I won’t ever fail.”

“Get up,” the Voice said. “Get up, and finish your nest.”

“How do I know that I’m not just talking to myself?” She retorted.

Her mind filled with silence. Even the air around her felt still and empty. She waited there a moment, unsure what to do next.

I can’t live like this, she realized. What would be better? Should I sit around and soak in my anguish, wondering whether creating is silly, work is worthwhile, and beauty is real? Or should I get up and try to build my nest some more?

So she forced herself up, and flew out to gather some wood. She chipped away at a tree, then took back her bit of wood to her nest, and worked on another layer of paper.

Paper Wasp worked until the sun set that day. Weary, she settled down for the night.

When the sun rose again, she took in a deep breath of the new air. The new day didn’t cheer her sad heart. But she determined: I will press on.

So she made another layer of paper, and another. As she did, her sadness faded into the back of her mind. She focused on her work, on making her nest beautiful.

At last, she finished her job. She flew in circles around her nest, examining it from every angle.

“It is good,” she decided. And she felt a hint of joy slip into her tired heart. Then, she settled down to sleep.

She didn’t notice that a human had been watching her work. He stared at her intently as she chipped wood and molded her paper.

“What a useful thing, this wasp’s paper,” the man said to himself. “Useful, and beautiful. I wonder if I could make some of my own…”

And so, mankind learned the art of paper-making from the Paper Wasp. Yet, the Paper Wasp probably never learned how she changed the course of human history. She only continued to do what she was made to do.