‘Flies’

  • ‘PATRICK FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE WILL YOU PUT THE EXECUTIONER DOWN?’

    Patrick gave his interfering wife a glare, but nevertheless replaced the executioner to its rightful place. A fly-swatter of industrial proportions, it fried its victims as well as crushing them, resulting in delectable snacks for the dog. Ever since the newspapers mysteriously started decreasing in frequency, and eventually stopped altogether, the dog began losing weight – but a handful of flies each day wasn’t the same as The Times, The Telegraph, and a chunk of the postman’s thigh.

    The decrease in newspaper circulation and increase in flies was virtually simultaneous. The country folk wondered, briefly, at the flies’ supernatural size, and the fact that once one was killed, two more were sent in its place, but soon these intelligent endeavours evaded them, and they returned to their rocking chairs. It was in a rocking chair that Patrick attempted to swat one of the pesky bastards. There was something odd about them – they all had a metallic glint to their bodies, and an evil glint to their eyes. Patrick had never actually seen their eyes – preferring to mutilate first, and examine later – but was certain that the glint would be an evil one. His own theory was that they were cameras sent by the government, but this was booed down by the other farmers. After all, who would spend so much money on designing these creatures, for the sole purpose of spying on a group of fifty year old blokes and dusty fields?

    Patrick’s wife publicly dismissed his idea as the result of boredom and an over-active imagination, but secretly could understand his reasoning. There was that book about a government constantly watching its citizens, and although she didn’t get some of the words, she still had a similar sense of foreboding. No wonder Patrick slept with one hand on her breast and the other on the executioner. The first time he got the two confused gave both of them a shock, but luckily they had turned it to their advantage…

    Patrick was at it again, frying them before tossing their frazzled bodies to the dog. Dog was swiftly losing its enthusiasm for its new diet, however, for rather than yapping for them with a voracious anticipation, it simply licked their twitching bodies off the floor. Looking through from the kitchen to the front porch, Sandra saw her husband’s valiant attempt to kill the creatures, but this only lead to a swarm of them, poised to enter the house. Despite the executioner’s mammoth size, there was no way that it could even dent this mass’s numbers. Bracing herself, Sandra crept under the kitchen table, and waited.

    ‘DIE YOU LITTLE WRETCHES. I don’t want you lot in this house, so you’re not coming in. We’re God-fearing folk, and we don’t need your evil black magic hanky-panky, because we have our faith to protect us. Understand?’

    Sandra couldn’t hear any more after that, for his voice was drowned by wing-beats. They loomed closer, until she seemed to be enveloped in a mass of darkness and an incessant thudding, which was broken by a slam of a door. Slam of a door? THAT BASTARD HAD TRAPPED HER IN THE KITCHEN. He would pay for that. As soon as she got hold of that mammoth fly swatter, she would ram it right where –

    Wait.

    She could hear herself think. Breathe.

    Peering out from underneath the table, she could no longer see the swarm. Then, turning around, she saw that they had arranged themselves on top of it, like a group of courteous starlings. Sandra couldn’t bear to kill such considerate creatures, instead preferring to evaluate their next moves.

    And move they did.

    Slowly, the wings began to unfurl, and then their bodies. Intricate pieces of origami, they began to return to their original shapes, and reveal their messages. Holding one, Sandra examined it closely, reading ‘with courtesy from Amazon delivery services’, and everything fell into place. For these were their missed newspapers – and once again, Amazon and her husband had managed to cock things up, all by themselves.

    Thanks to Morgan from https://scratchingsonthepageblog.wordpress.com/ for this writing prompt; I had an idea and just ran with it. I feel like this one’s a bit ‘meh’, but I’ve been having a weird productivity block for the past few days (hence the lack of posts), but I’m (kind of) back. Any comments?

     

     

 

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