Hello, suicidal fly. Today is as good a day as any to do it, you must have thought to yourself as you kamikazied into my morning tea. Now you lay on the surface thrashing about wildly. Is it a last moment change of heart or do you merely fight the surface tension in search of eternal peace? And what of the maggots youll leave fatherless? Perhaps theyll be better off -- a mildly comforting justification. A teabag life-preserver drifts by but you ignore it. No, you surely mean to end the cyclical rut you were instinctively born to fulfill. And whats my part in this? Im the one who can give you that second chance, fly. I delicately pluck you from the certainty of death and send you shivering back into an otherwise indifferent world. You drag yourself away across the concrete porch leaving a wet yet evaporating trail of regret behind you, perhaps grasping toward a renewed glimmer of hope set in motion by the fact that such divine intervention must be proof that your life is worth more than you previously believed. But you ruined my morning tea. And I...well...I should never be crossed. Now feel the weight of my justice as it crushes restitution from your brittle exoskeleton. The deed is done. And I shall drink my tea anyway -- a testament to your non-affect; a final toast to your cowardice. And to your maggots I say this: You can take my word for it, your father had it coming. When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, Ill be waiting.
Posted on: Fri, 04 Apr 2014 14:37:13 +0000
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