A Fly’s Life

THIS IS THE STORY OF HOW I DIED.

Well, only partly. But it’s a rather important part, really. When your life ends it usually is something you take notice of.

Hi. I am Francis Pope John Paul Ringo George the Third.  Most people call me Franny.

I had a great life before I died, suddenly and tragically.

I lived with my best friend. He was also my only friend, but I prefer not to focus on the details.

His name was Dave. But I liked to call him The Best Person Ever.

One of my favorite things about him was that he didn’t hate anyone! I mean, he did yell at the Pizza delivery guy for being twenty minutes late, but who wouldn’t?

My favorite thing about him though was that he didn’t mind that we were different species. I was a fly, only a couple hours old when we met. Still young, dumb, and ugly. But he was only a young human, so we made a good pair.

He showed me all around his flat. A couple times he tried to give me a high five, but he forgot that I was so tiny that I would fall out of the air. He would start yelling, all upset at himself, but I’d remind him that everyone makes mistakes, and we’d continue on our way.

That night, he curled up in bed, but I watched some cat videos on the big black square of power, since he’d left it on. And it only took me about an hour to type “crt vidyos” into the YouTube, so it was totally worth it.

I shared all his meals with him, we watched TV together, he even introduced me to his other friends when they came to watch a ball game for feet. And when he went away in his big growling box for ‘work’, I wept until he came back.

I think I cried all the juices out of me though, because I felt very sluggish and tired for the next few hours. That’s why when I saw a great big Daddy Long Leg coming towards me, I flew up and knocked into Dave’s face (that’s how we communicate) and had to get him to fight it for me. He grabbed the big Spatula of Slapping and ran after me back to the windowsill.

I landed next to the spider, indicating where he should hit, but then out of nowhere, I felt less like a powerful and very handsome fly, and more like a squished piece of blergh.

The last thing I saw before the darkness was the spider laughing as he scurried away, and Dave.

Dave’s beautiful smiling face. He was obviously sad, but was trying to keep a happy face for me. He was so sensitive and caring that way. Then my vision clouded over and…that’s how I died.

You might wonder why I’m telling you all of this. See, now that I’m gone, Dave will need someone to watch over him. And even though it hurts me to say this, he needs a new best friend. So if you are looking for the nicest, fly-loving person on the planet, please go to Dave’s house, at 221B Baker St. London, England.

Take care of him now that I can’t.

fly-2

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