Day 302: The Fly: A Tale of Adventure and a Rant of Redeeming Annoyance

After several days of beating his forehead against the invisible wall to the outside, the fly fell down on all sixes. The child had spilled something called “pop” on the counter this morning. It was all but dried up now. The fly could taste the sugary residue across the cool marble slab, but it wasn’t enough. The desperation had grown into a frantic plan of either breaking through the invisible barrier or die trying. This was no life — to constantly feel the aching urge of starvation and only to be born three days prior. There had to be a life better than this, even if it was nothing.

It took off for one last attempt to fly to freedom, but smashed its head into his clear nemesis once again, bouncing back a bit, and then slamming into it four more times before retreating back to the light.

There must be a hole somewhere.

Lost in purgatory, the fly landed in the middle of the wall and wished for one of the giants to come kill it. But, being in the middle of the day, the fly surmised that they were all past the big door.

The fly pleaded: Please make this end soon.

From the side of the room, a glowing white ball floated toward the fly. It made no sound but smelled like cotton candy. It flowed toward the fly at a steady speed and then stopped at the tip of its antennas. A warm wave rushed over the fly — a warmth like no other — not like the harsh but soothing heat of the lamp — no, this was the fuzziest encompassing feeling that could not be described with words. It was like birth without hunger. The first feeling of existence. Every sense of slight unpleasantness disappeared and the perfect feeling of content and happiness is all the fly could feel.

Then it was gone.

The cold sting of air conditioning shot chills up the fly’s back, but within a moment the sensation was gone. There was no pain. There was no craving for warmth or light or even food. There was nothing and it was okay. With this astonishing feeling, the fly felt that it got one of its wishes. It turned toward the invisible wall. With all the might it could flutter the fly took off at a ramming speed that was sure to be true suicide. Or it was the strength needed to finally breakthrough.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Author’s Note #1: During the writing of this blog there had been a large fly flying around the room directly above my head in which the light is glowing. When I first sat down I didn’t mind the fly so much because the idea of writing a story about a fly came as a pleasant shock and I thought the fly’s presence would give me inspiration.

A few paragraphs in, the fly was starting to get on my nerves. I had the story pretty much mapped out in my head, I was satisfied with the ending, and would rather work without the buzzing and tapping of the fly on the glass. As some of you may know, I catch flies to get rid of them. It is a sport I have been practicing for years. It usually takes time, but because of the size of the fly and its slower speed, I was able to nab it in about ten seconds. Sweet! I yell and open the sliding glass door. I hold out my hand and open up my hollow fist. The fly is gone. I step back into the house and close the door. Immediately, I hear another fly bopping around. Dang. I see the fly and it lands, and I promise you that it is the same large fly that I just let outside.

What a fluke, I think, and decide to get back to the story while the fly buzzes around again. He earned some more time with the luck that he made it back in. For the most part, he would land on a wall for a while and be quiet. I found a way to tune him out when I was concentrating. So, on with the story.

After a bit, I decided to get up again and try to catch him. It was easy the first time, after all. It was not easy the second time. After a few swipes through the air, the fly smarted up and flew higher near the ceiling. So I sat back down. And then I got back up to try again. It took a bit, but I finally got it again. Sweet. Awesome. Cool. This time I’m going to make sure he stays outside. After all, that is where the food is and that is where he wants to be. I open the door and make sure my whole body is outside. I open my palm and I watch in slow motion as the fly takes a couple of hops on my hand and b-lines it past my head and back into the house.

I gave up for a while, laughing and starting to write this extra-long Author’s Note that could be another post on its own. I wrote a few paragraphs of this, thoroughly enjoying the jesting of this freaking fly that now earned itself a stay in the house tonight. I figured it wanted to be outside, but I guess wrong. The temperature has dropped several degrees from this afternoon and especially since last week. Maybe the fly just wants a warm inn for the night. That’s cool, but several paragraphs ago he was starting to irritate me again.

It enjoyed landing underneath the glass dome on the metal beaded strings for the fan and light. I had tried to get it from that landing zone before and failed both times. Third time’s a charm, they say. So, he lands. Moves up the string towards an unimaginable bright light that, with so many eyes, I can’t understand why insects love so much. My secret belief is that they believe it is some sort of God or reminds them of an existence that was extremely warm. Or extremely bright.

ANYWAYS, it crawled up the top of one of the strings. I slowly moved my hand behind the fly who appeared to have been bathing itself similar to the way a cat licks its paw and rubs forward across its head. That meant that the fly was distracted. It was just my luck. I moved my thumb and forefinger closer, the fly still impervious to my existence, and pinched one the fly’s wings like a human chopstick. It fluttered for only a moment and turned its body to stand on my thumb.

I thought about taking him outside again and finally closing the glass door so that he would most surely have to fly away to somewhere else in the world. Somewhere surely with more food. Don’t flies eat plants? I just Googled it. They eat decaying organic material. So yes, they eat plants of the stale variety, along with everything else apparently. I still think flies would love a fresh Rock n’ Rye spilled all over the counter. Maybe the pop is decaying. It does wonders for the teeth, after all.

So, the fly is chilling on my thumb and I want to take him outside so he doesn’t infiltrate my bedroom and annoy me to the point of contemplating insect murder in the middle of the night. But I had already made a silent agreement to the fly. I had to honor it. I let go of the wing and it flew off to bang its head against a random wall. Maybe it was a spectral in its previous life. I just don’t know. But I guess I have a new roommate.

Author’s Note #2: Hope to see the fly again tomorrow for coffee. I need to write the conclusion to the story. Maybe it will change by that time.

Author’s Note #3: Maybe I’ll just keep a few flies in the house from now on for inspiration.

Author’s Note #4: I think the fly went to sleep. I'm doing the same.

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Original image photographed by Sergio Cerrato from Pixabay