On the fly · 7:06pm May 30th, 2013
A fly was sitting on the window. The term ‘sit’ might not be entirely correct, given how windows are vertical surfaces, but it captures the essence of the act, so let’s keep it. So, he was sitting and sitting, rubbing his front pair of legs from time to time as flies are prone to do. Fly thoughts swirled through his head lazily, and all in all he just enjoyed all the virtues of being a fly.
At some point he saw another fly landing beside him. Since it’s generally known that flies have no names, let’s just call them ‘first fly’ and ‘second fly’.
“Howdy!” the second fly would’ve said, if flies had been able to talk – which is, of course, an absurdity. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing, nothing, I just withdrew here,” the first fly would’ve answered apologetically.
“Withdrawing here? Why so glum? It’s a beautiful day! Come, take wing, leave this boring old window behind you! Start living a little!” so the second one would’ve encouraged the first.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make a ruckus, you know. I’d rather not call attention to myself if I can avoid it. I lead a quiet life, not sticking my nose into others’ business: in these trying days, the safest is not to ask for trouble, you know. Maybe this way I won’t catch the eyes of the big shots.”
“Such cowardice!” the second fly would’ve snorted, had he not lacked the necessary articulating organs. “With this submissiveness, you will only make things worse than they already are! Be braver, stand up for yourself and your rights! If you do nothing but sheepishly let the power shear your wool, no one will notice if you disappear!”
With this insult (for flies have very low opinions of sheeps), the second fly took wing, shot up, and started to circle around in the room with a loud buzz, proudly, valiantly preaching his uncompromising beliefs.
Shortly after, however, the voice of a man could be heard.
“Hey, there’re flies in this room! Get the swatter!”
It didn’t take long for the large flyswatter to appear. Slowly, menacingly, it drew on the first fly, and no matter how small he tried to make himself, his standstill only made him all the easier target. The swatter struck, and memories of the first fly soon faded into a faint smear on the window’s glass.
However, as the flyswatter tried to stalk the second fly, it missed. It struck for a second, then a third time, but all in vain: the fly’s quick moves and nimble maneuvers proved to be too much for it. The errant strikes smacked barren walls and furniture.
The second (and by now, only) fly soared into prideful heights, and the human’s voice spoke again.
“Hey, Lousie, this one keeps dodging the swatter! Give me the bug spray!”
And the second fly was sprayed, and he descended into the depths, dead.
Many thanks to Salacar for proofreading this short fable.