Sue’s trouble with flies.
There is a tall plastic bottle on my desk that is a constant reminder that I am a mass murderer. I don’t like it, I don’t enjoy it, but sometimes you are left with no alternative. It matters little that I can plead self defence, diminished responsibility and crime passionel.
Though they are driving me nuts.
The narrow necked bottle is half filled with a sweet, fruity liquid and a dozen flies. One of which is still swimming, frantically trying to escape while I sit and attempt to ignore its plight, feeling like the greatest beast in nature. Yes, I know they are only flies, and they are nasty creatures that transmit more germs than a dirty missile. And they leave horrid traces of their presence that send me running for the bleach… which, incidentally, kills millions of lifeforms with every sweep of the cloth. Even so, flies serve…
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