The Fly

I first heard the buzzing while I was considering whether or not I could pull off a male voice. I had a typical day-off setup. I sat on my bed in my small, cluttered room, leaning against the wall behind me, computer opened on my lap. Hoodie and sweatpants, hair greasy and unbrushed, you get the idea. I was browsing voice acting auditions, as was a hobby of mine, and one particular role struck me as something that could be fun. The only problem was, the character was male. I’d done male voices before, but typically for little boys. This character was supposed to be a teenager.

While this roamed through my mind, a loud buzzing sound blared in swift circles in the center of my room. I glared at the intruder, a fat fly that came from nowhere and could not seem to shut up. When did he come in? My door and window were closed, and not a sound had stirred until just then. My morning activities quickly changed from imitating a male, to plotting murder.

I couldn’t kill it with my bare hands. It was too big. It would be able to feel the life draining from it between my sweaty fingers, and the pacifist half of my personality would not have that. I glanced around the room. There were other options to kill it, certainly; books, a tissue box- but those would only prove usefull if the stupid thing would sit still, and that was not happening.

Luckily, we had weapons upstairs. A few years ago, my dad had bought what appeared to be tennis rackets from Walmart. Needless to say, these were not for playing tennis. If you held a button down on the handle, and the metal net simultaneously came into contact with a bug, a loud crack would split the air of your peaceful home, accompanied by a violent sizzle, and before you knew it, the enemy would be nothing more than a black and crispy bit between the metal wires.

Morbid, I suppose, and maybe even inhumane by my standards, but they were effective; no one could argue that. So I bounded up the steps and slid open the hall closet to select my weapon of choice. We had two options; the big, loud one that sizzled, and a smaller, more humble one that actually made little to no noise, but still performed the job quite nicely, without the victim getting trapped between the grates. It being the Sabbath, I chose the ladder.

When I returned to my messy room, I couldn’t hear the fly anymore. He’d at last decided to settle somewhere. Still, I set the racket on the bed beside my computer and me, ready for use.

The buzzing continued.

But the fly was so fast! I could barely keep up with the little monster. Sometimes, I could have sworn he hovered just behind me, and other times, it sounded as though he neared the ceiling. I swung the racket wildly, when the buzzing grew louder, hoping it would strike home.

One of these times, I felt the racket smack the wall behind me.

The buzzing stopped.

Cautiously, I twisted to inspect the area of the brown sheets behind me. Nothing. Perhaps he fell between the mattress and the wall?

Either way, the room was silent now, so I resumed sitting peacefully at my laptop. I recorded myself saying the lines, experimenting a bit with different tones. Just as I finished my cringy attempt, something disturbing occured.

The buzzing.

I whipped my gaze about the room. Where was it? Momentarily, the buzzing stopped again. It sounded as though he’d lost his ability to fly, but still attempted to do so. I begged him to show himself, so I could at least put him out of his misery.

But he didn’t. He remained hidden.

Unsure of what else to do, I sent a Marco Polo to my friend Brooke, detailing my current situation.

“I don’t like killing things,” I assured her, “But I can’t have him buzzing while I’m trying to record audition lines.”

She didn’t respond. I was on my own.

At last, I found the culprit hidden behind the plastic window shutters. I shifted the racket behind them and held down the button, hoping to catch something. But when I looked, I found him clinging to the top of the window sill, perfectly avoiding the attack. I couldn’t kill him now. This guy was practically Jason Borne. Not to mention, when I got a good look at him, I could see the green sheen on his abdomen, and the big eyes. He was beautiful. Call me shallow, but I find it difficult killing beautiful things.

“He keeps going back to the window,” I told Brooke, “I think he just wants to go outside.”

It was a bright, hot day out there. The grass was green, and the birds chirped merrily in the trees. He didn’t want his sorry butt in here anymore than I did. “I’m going to open the window,” I said, and drew back the plastic shutters. Then I tugged on the handle. After an awkward shifting moment of effort, I’d nudged the glass pane to the side, only to reveal the black grid behind it. Brilliant. I was sort of hoping that would shift with the glass part.

No problem, I thought, as the fly buzzed near me, and I, now unarmed, could do nothing about it. If I couldn’t get the black grid open, (which seemed likely with my efforts so far) then I’d have to send him to Heaven, and honestly, I doubt he’d know the difference.

The screen was not moving. But there had to be a way! I could hardly kill him now, that I’d come so close to freeing him!

I tried a new tactic. I pushed the screen. Now, the grid happily bent outward, toward the backyard, creating a small escape for my friend.

“The window is open,” I announced to my room, trying my best not to sing the rest of the Frozen song now stuck in my head.

After a few moments, as he always did, the fly returned to the window. Only now, he crawled about on the screen, fixing his wings. Stupid creature. Did he not see how close the exit was? I moved a hand to encourage him, but he only flew away. When he returned, I almost felt hopeless. But then- of course! Simple! With the fly still on the screen, I shifted the glass part of the window pane closed in front of him. Now he couldn’t get back in, but the screen was still bent open to the outside.

After a few failed attempts of him trying to fly back into the room, he at last escaped as I told Brooke of my success. I could have killed him. I could have ended his life right then and there, but I hadn’t. There was another way. Maybe there was always another way out of violence. Maybe all we have to do is love our enemy enough to search for a peaceful answer.