I don’t know where he came from. He randomly popped into my life one day, and things were never the same. He had so much energy and happiness, which I found sort of cute at first. He traveled around my room at high speeds, and took breaks on random objects: my teapot, my backpack, the wall. Sometimes, I would rock back in my chair and fall into a daze as my eyes followed his erratic movements. Little did I know, this was only the honeymoon phase.
After a few days, I noticed a change in my attitude. Instead of finding his upbeat personality endearing, I found it annoying. When he was sitting on my things, I angrily snapped at him. He tried to eat my fruit, and I raised my voice. How could I be so cruel? He just wanted to spend time with me, and I was being a jerk. But I just couldn’t stop myself from lashing out.
Tensions were high, too high. I had no control over myself. I angrily stomped around the room, clapping loudly, hoping to stun him into motionlessness. Or death. When that tactic didn’t work, I spent hours carefully tracking his course so that when the opportunity was right, I could make my move. Finally, he was right where I needed him to be. He landed on the wall near the fridge. Without a second of hesitation, BAM! I slapped him. He was dead.
I laughed to myself in relief and looked at the wall to see him, smushed. Victory quickly faded into guilt as I saw my bloodstained hand. Frantically, I ran to the bathroom to wash out the stain. Out, damn’d spot! More soap. Hotter water. Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.
Many hand-washings later, and both the spot and my guilt were gone. No longer am I subject to the torment of an outside force. I took action to do what was right for me. I feel so free. I got my life back. I eliminated my unwelcome visitor, the fruit fly.
Image via Sam Crausman