The Spilling Season

I wrote a story when I was fifteen. It told of a boy walking on a familiar path through the woods near his home. He unintentionally stirs up a nest of underground bees and they swarm, covering every inch of his exposed flesh with stings. The pain gives way to a euphoric high, unlike anything he's experienced, and he returns to stir up the hive throughout the rest of the summer.
The story garnered high marks from my instructor at the time, but out of concern, it was passed by the guidance office. They believed the bee story was a direct reference to drug use. As a result of this unassailable logic, I was summoned before the school psychologist. During the interrogation procedure, I was asked a question which I will never forget.
"If money was no object, what would you do with your hair?"
As I pondered this, a chubby red haired girl burst into the office seeking immediate counsel. The circus was coming to our city and she desired to join its ranks as a clown. I took the opportunity to sneak away. I didn't return to the guidance office until late the following year, where the same counselor asked me,
"How is it that Satan is here in the room with us, yet he can't blow out this candle?"