“Buzzzzzz!” A swarm of angry bees swallowed the campsite, tearing through it’s bushy terrain. Campers were everywhere, their petrified shrieks swallowed by the menacing buzzing.

I searched for the cause of this havoc, only to find little Joe - a younger camper- on the ground, covered in bubbling bee stings and irritated welts.

Allergic.

On one side of him lay a stick, the other, the mangled bee hive. Joe had provoked this attack by the look of it, not out of character for him— a troublemaker and nature-hater.

My councillor instincts kicked in, and I bolted over, ignoring the stinging on my arms, the growing throb of a headache. The poor boy could barely breathe, his gasping breaths growing more shallow by the second.

The EpiPen I held trembled in my grip as I stabbed it deep into his thigh. There was a second when the boy’s breaths ceased, my heart stopping right with him… until he sucked in another rasping breath. Alive.

The boy’s parents were furious, but us councillors even more so. They hadn’t informed us of the boy’s allergy whatsoever, and yet somehow we were to blame for the incident that unfolded that chaotic afternoon.

Little Joe never came back.