The No Fly Zone

In a blur as I opened the balcony door I was ambushed. The merciless intruder shoved aggressively past me and into my hitherto safe haven.

My heart raced as I turned to appraise the interloper. He was brawny. Hairy. With menace in his compound eyes.

He was a black fly.

But not just an ordinary black fly. This monstrosity was E P I C. Like some hideous winged creature that would terrorize the fine citizens of Tokyo in a 1960’s sci fi flick.

Its buzzing was more of a hiss. One that strongly conveyed his intent: a brazen challenge to usurp my territory.

I couldn’t cede. This is my home! And let’s face it. If I didn’t turn to fight, this black fly was large enough to carry off D as he slept soundly, and as yet unawares.

Armed with an aerosol can in one hand and a wad of tissue in the other I began to stalk the invader. In turn he circled me relentlessly in a brave and harrowing effort to disorient me.

And so it was as we began the dance of death reminiscent of any good Loony Tunes episode featuring a trespassing varmint and a hapless yet plucky human. With yours truly cast in the role of Elmer Fudd. All that was missing was a stick of dynamite, a rifle, and the accompanying score from The Barber of Seville.

He would jab and I would parry. I would spray and he would dodge. My bravado a most worthy foil for his cunning.

I never screamed. I never cried. But even I’m surprised I didn’t faint!

A good runner has speed and endurance. Power and agility. And in my most daunting test yet, all of these hard-honed attributes came to the fore.

My athleticism rewarded, it was the fly who blinked first. A lightning jab of aerosol from the left followed by a roundhouse right of wadded tissue and I captured him.

I flung him bodily into the toilet. Slammed shut the lid. And flushed him to the bowels of hell — or the sanitary waste facility of the Greater Toronto Area.

Breathless and sweaty, I re-entered the living room in triumph. The skies were still dark. The sun, yet to rise, remained oblivious to the saga that preceded its awakening.

And hours later I am still afraid of lifting that toilet lid.

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3 comments

  1. Oh gosh, this brings back horror memories of watching The Fly (you know then one with Geena Davis?) as a child. I hope you haven’t clogged your pipes with that monstrosity.

    1. I wonder if it was Jeff Goldblum circa 1986? He’s like what? 6’6? I told you that fly was ginormous!!!! 😋

  2. All while screaming like a little girl…

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