Sunday, December 16, 2007

The tormentor fly.

I've killed that fly a dozen times in the past three or so weeks, and yet each time I go outside for a smoke he's there waiting for me.

I'm hot and miserable already. Sweat is dripping off my brow within a few minutes. It's too damn hot for confrontations. But that doesn't seem to matter because the fly buzzes around my head as though I were dead; picking at morsels of flesh and laying eggs in my scalp. I'm sure of it.

I can almost feel them breeding on my dandruff. Each time it lands on me I flinch because I can feel its tongue licking the salt from my body. That instrument leaves traces of fly saliva that I can't seem to wash off no matter how hard I try.

I've killed it a dozen times. I swear it. But each afternoon a replacement approaches from my blind side and begins to work on me, hastily nibbling on me before I take a swat at it, and all the while I'm sitting on the porch in misery and discomfort from the heat.

I can't stand it anymore. What am I going to do? I've become afraid to venture outside for fear that it will tickle my ear with its sickening whispers and foul laughter. The mind of a fly is a corruption that I find insanely jealous. I don't know how much longer I can take the fly's torture. What can I do? I am afraid that soon, I may start a buzz in the community, if I am caught chasing this demon about with a shovel. But I'm in distress from the heat and don't care at the moment. I just need to fly away from my problems and forget what'd I've heard from him.

I've become too disturbed by the tormentor fly to care if I live for his diet or die.