I’m glad I’m me. I was sitting at my desk when, out of no where, a deranged fly zoomed by my head. It was out of control and obviously hadn’t a clue what he was doing, because otherwise he wouldn’t have taken such a risk. Suddenly I was thinking about that poor fly and mentally commiserated on his sad misfortune to be a fly.
I’m wondering what it’s like to be in his place, and what his thoughts are, assuming that he can think. Maybe he would be running thoughts like these through his tiny brain………
Geez, I’ve been stuck in this place for what seems like forever. I’ve pretty much checked out every room and thank goodness that kitchen is full of crumbs and water drips, or I’d have starved to death by now. That bathroom was sure a haven. A good trek around the toilet seat can sure make a fella feel rejuvenated. Better make sure I take some of that back to the kitchen. Too bad I’m the only one here. It sucks to be by yourself, and I know that my buddies would like a good game of ‘buzz the cranky old lady’. It’s a dangerous game, but heck, we have a limited lifespan anyway, only thirty days.
My eyesight sucks, even with these four thousand lenses on each of my two eyes. I can sure feel the swish of that fly swatter though, and any movement will send me skyward in a hurry. Besides, her aim is terrible, and it’ll take her a few swings to even get close to me. Bet you didn’t know I could fly at forty five miles an hour did ya? I jump up and backwards before I take off, so if I was you I’d practice my baseball swing. My two wings beat at two hundred miles an hour, and they can stop as soon as I touchdown. Speaking of touchdown, I think I’ll put my sticky feet on that sandwich over there and maybe have a snack. Trust me you don’t want to know the mechanics of how I do that. Think I’ll land over by that desk calendar first and see what day it is. I’m starting to feel a little giddy and punch drunk. Yikes! It’s day thirty. No wonder I’m weaving all over and taking unnecessary risks. I don’t want to suffer! I’ll make a last ditch effort to escape, and that window looks like the perfect place to……….” Whaaaaaap!
That fly didn’t stand a chance. He was so dopey that I sent him to meet his maker with the aid of a paper towel tube. Poor thing didn’t even see it coming. Guess I really didn’t care about whether he could think or not.
You know, he just got a little too close to my lunch, and I don’t share my lunch with anyone. Especially flies.
Author Val Enders resides in Spruce Grove, Alberta. She married her high school sweetheart, Richard, and they’ve been together for over 40 years. Val doesn’t consider herself a writer by profession, rather she writes more for her own enjoyment. An accomplished artist, Val’s a member of the Allied Arts Council of Spruce Grove. Visit Val’s “Journey Into Art” website at www.vals.webs.com