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Fly On The Wall

The fly on his wall was watching him write.

He had no way of proving it, yet there It was, watching him write.

At first, he had been watching It. Contemplating It's existence.

Flies - lovers of shit and all things left over.

The planets great disposal system, carriers of disease and filth.

Born a maggot, raised on waste, die anonymous.


Notoriously skittish creatures, this fly did not conform to what he already knew about It's kind. It hung about in his field of view for longer than anticipated and stayed still whilst a jab of the finger was feined. He blew at the fly with varying intensities, banged near it and around it and still, the fly stayed still.

Irate, he promised this time the jab would not be feined. This time he would squash the fly. Turn its body to sludge and discard it into the loo or the bin.

from whence you came little beastie

Looking at the fly, he raised his forefinger and started the journey through space.



And still, the fly did not move. Was it not aware of what was to come. There was no fein nor pretence here. The fly would be crushed if it stayed still.

5

4

3

2

1


Nothing. His thumb stopped above the fly, unable to push on.






The fly on the wall was watching him write.

Instead, he no longer wrote,

he stared, slight whites showing in his eyes.

Was he scared of this fly?

No, surely not, but Its motivations unsettled him to the point of slight worry. He daren't move, daren't be the one who was displaced by a fly, so instead he shifted slightly to the left, moving this creature out of sight and his eyes to the warm beige that was his wall of plaster and paint.


Back to the writing. Feeling the pen move in hand, the drag of paper, the ease of mind.


And there It was, the fly,

crawling not flying,

across his wall,

back to centre field.


It's movement was stiff.

He had seen the sort somewhere else before. Those nature programmes where cameras are placed in rocks or hollow plastic ducks, ambling about habitats looking unnatural and out of place...

much like this fly.


Real concern began to set in.


This fly was watching him write.


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