An Occasion | Kendall Pack

The murder of a fly is not the simple task it used to be. That is, not for me, at least. The particular homicide of which I write occurred at the home of a friend. But it began about ten minutes earlier when I left my house. I was on my way over to the home of my compatriot to eat dinner. As I stepped out onto the front porch, a cold gust of wind blew along the apartment's side. I buttoned my jacket up to my neck and began to walk.

I have often heard of the difficulty of catching a fly. There is a humorous anectdote of a man who, while trying to catch a fly, cut himself up very badly by breaking the windows, trying to slap the demon. He bled to death while the fly exited through the window. But it has been my blessing to be patient in the catch. I wait for a long while and I let the fly land on my hand. Then, while the plague-bearer searches my palm, I snatch it. This applies to the story because on this particular day, a fly landed on my hand.

As I walked down the steps of the apartment complex, a relatively slow fly landed on my hand. I let it strut onto my awaiting palm and then the trap slammed shut. I stood for a moment, feeling the fly buzz in my fist. I began to wonder what I should do with the winged fiend. Then I began to walk. I knew exactly what to do. I made my way to my colleague's home very slowly, contemplating the fly.

In my past, the plan was to get the fly swatter, open the back door, and kill every fly that entered. But that was the days when all I wanted was to kill without any thought other than hitting a target. Now my mindset has changed. I have learned that we must find a more lasting enjoyment.

I entered my destination. Two of my friends were on the stairs. They asked why I was in such a hurry(for I was)and I answered, "..." nothing. I arrived at their front door and entered. They followed me into the bathroom where I filled the sink with cold water. When the sink was full, I plunged my hand into it. "Oh my!" They wondered, "Has he been in a fight?" I held my hand under the water for a long while to make sure my little friend was waterlogged. Then I glided to the kitchen where I disposed of the creature in a trash can.

"What was it, Kendall?" They asked. "Nothing but a harmless little fly, my dears." I answered. Perhaps I shall be more discreet in the future, for I was severely reprimanded for my actions. I don't understand the female gender at all. One moment they want the insect dead and the next, I am the insect. Well then, smash me.