Bug Fnck [FICTOID]

“There’s a dragonfly in this museum,” said the anthropologist.

“Well, of course there is,” said the curator.  “We own one of the largest insect collections in the world.”

“No, a live dragonfly!”

The curator wondered why the anthropologist seemed so anxious.  “And if there was…?”

“It wants to kill me,” said the anthropologist.

The curator’s hand slowly began inching towards the panic button under her desk.  “Really?  Kill you?”

“You don’t understand,” the anthropologist said.  “You think I’m crazy but I’m not!”

“Why would a dragonfly want to kill you?”

The anthropologist gulped nervously.  “Decades ago when I was a young research assistant, I signed on for a study of the Odonata tribe.

“They celebrate -- shall we say -- certain peculiar mating rituals that I marked for in-depth personal study – purely in the interest of science, of course.”

“Of course,” said the curator, jabbing the panic button.

“My particular research subject was the niece of the tribal shaman.  He felt offended at the…uh…liberties I took with her and laid a curse on me:  I would die as the result of a dragonfly, the Odonata’s totem animal.”

“Fascinating,” said the curator, jabbing the panic  button again and again.

“But his niece felt pity on me and begged the shaman to show mercy.  He placed a spell on me so I could detect nearby dragonflies and flee them, but over the years I came to see this was just a sadistic trick on his part to add to my misery and torment.”

“You don’t say,” said the curator, leaning back in her chair so she could jam the toe of her shoe against the panic button, wondering what the hell was keeping security.

“There’s a live dragonfly in this museum right now,” said the anthropologist.  “I can feel it.”

The door swung open to reveal two uniformed security guards.

“Get him out of here!” the curator said, hiding behind her chair.  “He’s crazy!”

The guards sighed; this was the third time this week the curator accused someone of being insane.

“C’mon, pal, let’s go,” said the older guard.

As they led him out of the office area to the main floor of the museum, a dragonfly suddenly swooped up, hovering inches before the anthropologist’s nose.

The anthropologist shrieked and fled in the opposite direction, chased by the dragonfly with the guards in pursuit.

Around and around the museum they ran, past the Hopi life diorama, through the crystals glowing ethereally under black light in the gem room, over the deck of the Viking ship replica.

Every time the anthropologist headed rtowards an exist, the dragonfly zoomed ahead, cutting off his escape.

Finally, in desperation the anthropologist ran up the huge curving staircase in the rotunda, perhaps hoping to find a window opening to a fire escape.

As he ran, the dragonfly swooped at him, driving his panic.  He swatted futilely at the dragonfly, not noticing where he ran.

As a result, he tumbled over the balcony railing to fall onto the horns of the triceratops fossil below.

Triumphant, the dragonfly flew off.

The guards leaned over the railing and looked down at the anthropologist impaled on the triceratops’ skull.

“Dammit, I hate when that happens,” said the older one.

© Buzz Dixon