the short lives of a fly and his boy

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To a fly like me, this boy sure does seem to live so slowly. I’ve been watching him my whole entire life. Can you believe it? A whole ten minutes I’ve watched him sit there, with his head down in his hands. What on earth could he be thinking about?

Oh! He’s moving! This is so exciting! But what’s he doing? I have to get closer and find out.

He’s writing, I think. Ah, so gracefully he moves that pen across the sheet of paper. I do wish I understood his language; those squiggles make absolutely no sense to me.

Maybe it’s a love note, littered with flattering compliments and secret plans to run away together. I imagine she is very pretty; much like my mother was, but of course, in a human way. She might have the softest blond hair gently tickling her smooth, illustrious neck. And she could have the most desirable pink lips that would make even the most confident of boys nervous.

What’s that, a tear? Why is this boy crying? I have never known love, but I don’t think that it is a sad thing. Humans are such odd creatures. None of this is making sense to me now.

He set the pen and paper aside, and now he’s reaching for something else. It’s certainly a curious looking object, but it appears so ominous and evil. Seeing him press that dark, cold steel against his head sends shivers down my wings. The long black nose of it blends so neatly in with the boy’s own long black hair.

His tears are falling now like the rain during the hardest, saddest storm. It’s killing me to watch this boy. Why is he so sad? Doesn’t he know he has so many more days left to live, days that he can spend simply enjoying the fact that he’s alive? If anyone should be crying, it is me. I’m born with only hours left in my lifetime. And when I die, I will have only ever seen this one boy, in this one room, on this one wall. I can have no great achievements, no true loves, and no bittersweet heartaches. The time given to me does not allow me to change the world. I can never make an impact on things.

This boy here, a human creature, he is so lucky! The world can be his if he simply asks for it! Someday he might find a girl with the pink lips and the soft blond hair! So why should he ever cry?


Oh, I must tell him these things! Surely then, after hearing my words, he will put down that terrifying, ugly, black contraption. If only I can make him realize just how lucky he is to have even just one single day on this amazing earth!

Yes! I will tell him this! Quickly I must fly to him. Before it’s—


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I’m so sorry it had to come to this. I tried! I really did! But this pain is just too much for me to carry any longer. I guess you were right, Dad. I am weak. I’m weak and I’m scared, and I’m all alone.

If you see Lauren, please tell her that this isn’t her fault at all and that I still love her with all of my heart. I will miss her irresistible pink lips and her soft blond hair that gently falls against her neck. You deserve the world, Lauren, and I was never the boy to give it to you. I forgive you for what you did, and I understand that you want to see other guys. I never did feel like I was good enough for you anyway.

And Mom, I’m sorry I was never the star quarterback. To be honest, I hated football, and the day that I quit the team was probably the happiest day of my entire life.
Until Dad came home.

Oh god! I can’t believe I’m doing this!
But I know things will be better this way. Some of you may cry when you read this or hear the news, but any pain that you feel sits quietly in the shadow of the raging hell that I’ve gone through. It might be hard at first, for anyone who might care, but you will move on. You will all move on, and the memories will fade. Then you can all be happy again, without me.

Goodbye.
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The dead fly became encompassed by a pool of blood.





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