Fly Shot 2

Take a careful look at this picture.

Now, we’ve already discussed the original kill-strike at the fly that resulted in shot-gunning the room with perfectly delicious mocha coffee. We’ve been through all that.

After taking that first picture and cleaning up, I sat back here on the couch in front of that gorgeous fire and got back on the computer (I began to write Fly Shot!) for a good long while, chuckling occasionally about the incident. Eventually, and I mean maybe 30 or 40 minutes later, I looked over that way.

The fly was still there.

In the same place. Wow. I had been all under and around that table swiping away with paper towels and somehow missed the fly? I had forgotten about it during the cleanup and could have easily sent it flying across the floor.

OK. I got up and began walking over to it with a napkin to grab it with. As I was bending down to it, it suddenly lifted off and began to wing its way slowly up and around in a wide low circle around its liftoff spot. I started. WTF?! I lurched backward toward the couch, grabbed the fly-swatter and was back as the fly buzzed back a few inches above where he had started from; improbably, I hit him again, in the same spot where he had landed after being struck initially. Since he hadn’t buzzed away noticeably, I studied the business end of the swatter to find him: there he is stuck to the lower left corner of the yellow square part. Still bending over and studying, I decided to simply lay the fly-swatter directly down. I didn’t want to disturb the scene any further.

There it is as a memorial. The killer and the killed. The law of the jungle, spread at our feet in plain sight at last. You, with your neatly prepacked food, losing sight of the violence that enables your life.

Anyway, I can’t believe he was alive that whole time, slowly recovering. And after I had made such a big thing of my killing him by writing that previous post! Embarrassing! (Who’s the real hero here Kevin? You, with your awesome weapons and resources, or the fly, brave beyond brave, suffering in silence and gathering the strength to fight again―while you warm your toes by the fire?)

So. Either way, I killed him.

Again.

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