3.
It is really fucking hard to hang onto a moving car when you are a fly. First of all, that fucker is moving fast. Really fast. It's not fun.
Everything I see up close is unfocused, so I don't really know what's going on around me but if I were able to turn my little head around I could see where we're headed off in the distance. Instead I'm staring at what I hope is one woman driving the car, and not a bazillion of them, and I'm trying to tell her to open the frigging window and let me in.
The problem is I didn't get into her car fast enough before she closed the door. And she didn't open her windows because it was a little bit cooler outside. So now here I am trying to stay attached to the outside of her windshield but not get sucked into the vents.
Eat a dick, wind. You are not making it easy.
If only she could hear me screaming. I could turn into something bigger, but that would freak her out, and I'm not ready for that yet. Baby steps.
So I wait, and I hang on for my dear buggy life. To cope, I scream tiny bug screams until finally, she comes to a stop and opens her windows to catch some fresh air.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Wings don't fail me now. I boomerang myself into the air and fly into her car as fast as I can and settle on the passenger's side of the dashboard. Far enough from her in case she decides to swat at me. I don't need this relationship to start with violence.
Good, so far she hasn't noticed me. Or she is a bug saver. The car starts to move again and picks up speed. I stay away from the vents and the window. I don't need to have my work undone.
It's hard to tell what's going on because, I'm a fly. Colors are all screwed up and I can't focus on much.
She sings out loud. The vibrations of her voice are awful. She needs to stop. Switch to NPR, woman, for the love of everything.
I know. I'll distract her. I launch myself up towards her ear to tell her to stop singing, but she swats me away. I try again and Oh my God your hand is huge! It's a bear's paw!
Alright, never mind. I'll just ignore your miserable voice. But we are going to have a conversation about it later.
When they sent me here they did not warn me that she was a karaoke lover. Or that she was so messy. When was the last time she cleaned this car? I fly around the back seat and explore my surroundings. You are not clean, lady. She has shoes and tissue boxes and tubes of lipstick and socks and books and old maps back here. And bags with sirens on it. I think. It takes a while for me to figure out what everything is.
It feels like we're slowing down, so I buzz my way back up to the front. We're approaching her garage. I know it's hers because I was here this morning to snoop around.
Things change. The tiny hairs on my body stiffen. He's here. I know it. His smell is obvious even when I'm stuck as a fly. He smells sweet and rancid. I had hoped to get here first. So much for a slow introduction to her. I fly out of the car as the garage door opens and she pulls in to park.
Where is he? Then a noise from above. I fly up to the attic. It's open but the ladder isn't pulled all the way down to the floor.
I fly up into the attic and there he is. Looking for something. His body is stooped over, poking through boxes. Others have been emptied without much care. His smell is much worse now, sickly sweet and rotted. He shifts his body to another box. Thin and wrapped in robes, his hair is long, wiry and white. It creeps down to his feet, which, I know are clawed stumps. The back of his robe shifts. His wings are folded underneath, but if they were to come out they would be expansive, black, and paper thin. I watch him pick his way through each box. One clawed hand reaches out to poke through old books. He's so focused on the task at hand that he hasn't noticed me buzzing about. Until he hears the music from the car below and turns around.
His face is hidden by the robes, except for his nose, which is long and pointed. Sharp and curved downward like a sabre made of bone. It's a dull black. He slides the hood of his robe off his head. His eyes are what catch me first. There are no eyelashes. Just eyelids that slope up and are silver like the moon. The pupils are round and black as night and are surrounded by irises of fire with flames that stir within. The pupils are encircled by a ring of yellow light, and the whites of his eyes house green flames that constantly swirl.
He stares down at the attic's floor and I watch his hands flex and release. The car shuts off and I know what he'll do next if I don't stop him.
I focus on changing. I feel my blood and my muscles and my bones as I shift and everything looks smaller as I become larger again. I haven't gotten used to the pain yet but I have no choice. Limbs stretch out and to the side and I am a young man standing behind him.
He hears me first and spins around, a horrible sight.
He looks surprised for a moment and then he smiles. His eyes burn brighter and flames burst out towards me. I crouch down just in time for them to miss me then rush forward to knock him over but he blocks me and throws me to the ground. His clawed hands cut into my arms. I try not to cry out but I hear myself moan. He turns to make for the attic's stairs. I grab at his feet and miss twice before I succeed. He lands with his nose stuck in a floorboard. His hands flail out and knock a blue vase off of one of the boxes he had unpacked earlier. It falls and breaks in shards across the floor.
"What the fuck?" She exclaims from below.
His body grows still along with mine for just a moment. Then he turns himself. He shrinks to the size of a rat and makes for the stairs to escape. I swing out at him and fling him across the attic. He scurries across behind boxes.
"Who's up there? I have a gun!"
No, she doesn't, but she really should.
I try to stay quiet as I look for him while I make my way to the attic's door. There he is, behind a few old lamps, two eyes burn in my direction. I catch the handle of the door and close it shut to protect her from him. I shift my focus and turn my hand into a whip of fire, up to my shoulder and blink back tears, trying to push past the pain. I hear her down there, calling out again, and turning on the lights. Rattling around for something to use.
He starts to turn again, this time into a wolf, with matted fur the color of tar. Before he can fully turn, I lash out at him with the whip and cut him. The whip cracks again at him, and I feel it slice him. He howls and screeches, writhing on the ground an ugly beast not fully one thing or another. His teeth snap at the air. I let the whip turn to blade and pierce him, stabbing twice, until he shrieks. I'm shocked that I feel myself plunge into him, forgetting for a moment what I was taught. If you turn to something like a sword, you don't lose your sense of touch. You still feel. The air pops audibly. I watch as his eyes burn out and his body, not fully turned, shifts back to what it last was, now a dead rat.
"Hello? Are you okay? I know someone's up there. I'm, I'm calling the cops, damnit."
I hear her mumble to herself, "Great, tell the bad guy you're calling the cops. Good move."
Looking around, I see no way out. No other option then but to turn again. I'm not ready for her to meet me like this. But to what? Then I realize what I need to be.
When I was learning about humans, I discovered that they kept animals as pets. Dogs in particular. There's one that stood out in my studies. I hear her mustering the courage to open the attic, stomping around loudly and banging the shovel against the garage's walls and tables.
I unlatch the attic door and turn again. Fuck, this hurts.
Good, so far she hasn't noticed me. Or she is a bug saver. The car starts to move again and picks up speed. I stay away from the vents and the window. I don't need to have my work undone.
It's hard to tell what's going on because, I'm a fly. Colors are all screwed up and I can't focus on much.
She sings out loud. The vibrations of her voice are awful. She needs to stop. Switch to NPR, woman, for the love of everything.
I know. I'll distract her. I launch myself up towards her ear to tell her to stop singing, but she swats me away. I try again and Oh my God your hand is huge! It's a bear's paw!
Alright, never mind. I'll just ignore your miserable voice. But we are going to have a conversation about it later.
When they sent me here they did not warn me that she was a karaoke lover. Or that she was so messy. When was the last time she cleaned this car? I fly around the back seat and explore my surroundings. You are not clean, lady. She has shoes and tissue boxes and tubes of lipstick and socks and books and old maps back here. And bags with sirens on it. I think. It takes a while for me to figure out what everything is.
It feels like we're slowing down, so I buzz my way back up to the front. We're approaching her garage. I know it's hers because I was here this morning to snoop around.
Things change. The tiny hairs on my body stiffen. He's here. I know it. His smell is obvious even when I'm stuck as a fly. He smells sweet and rancid. I had hoped to get here first. So much for a slow introduction to her. I fly out of the car as the garage door opens and she pulls in to park.
Where is he? Then a noise from above. I fly up to the attic. It's open but the ladder isn't pulled all the way down to the floor.
I fly up into the attic and there he is. Looking for something. His body is stooped over, poking through boxes. Others have been emptied without much care. His smell is much worse now, sickly sweet and rotted. He shifts his body to another box. Thin and wrapped in robes, his hair is long, wiry and white. It creeps down to his feet, which, I know are clawed stumps. The back of his robe shifts. His wings are folded underneath, but if they were to come out they would be expansive, black, and paper thin. I watch him pick his way through each box. One clawed hand reaches out to poke through old books. He's so focused on the task at hand that he hasn't noticed me buzzing about. Until he hears the music from the car below and turns around.
His face is hidden by the robes, except for his nose, which is long and pointed. Sharp and curved downward like a sabre made of bone. It's a dull black. He slides the hood of his robe off his head. His eyes are what catch me first. There are no eyelashes. Just eyelids that slope up and are silver like the moon. The pupils are round and black as night and are surrounded by irises of fire with flames that stir within. The pupils are encircled by a ring of yellow light, and the whites of his eyes house green flames that constantly swirl.
He stares down at the attic's floor and I watch his hands flex and release. The car shuts off and I know what he'll do next if I don't stop him.
I focus on changing. I feel my blood and my muscles and my bones as I shift and everything looks smaller as I become larger again. I haven't gotten used to the pain yet but I have no choice. Limbs stretch out and to the side and I am a young man standing behind him.
He hears me first and spins around, a horrible sight.
He looks surprised for a moment and then he smiles. His eyes burn brighter and flames burst out towards me. I crouch down just in time for them to miss me then rush forward to knock him over but he blocks me and throws me to the ground. His clawed hands cut into my arms. I try not to cry out but I hear myself moan. He turns to make for the attic's stairs. I grab at his feet and miss twice before I succeed. He lands with his nose stuck in a floorboard. His hands flail out and knock a blue vase off of one of the boxes he had unpacked earlier. It falls and breaks in shards across the floor.
"What the fuck?" She exclaims from below.
His body grows still along with mine for just a moment. Then he turns himself. He shrinks to the size of a rat and makes for the stairs to escape. I swing out at him and fling him across the attic. He scurries across behind boxes.
"Who's up there? I have a gun!"
No, she doesn't, but she really should.
I try to stay quiet as I look for him while I make my way to the attic's door. There he is, behind a few old lamps, two eyes burn in my direction. I catch the handle of the door and close it shut to protect her from him. I shift my focus and turn my hand into a whip of fire, up to my shoulder and blink back tears, trying to push past the pain. I hear her down there, calling out again, and turning on the lights. Rattling around for something to use.
He starts to turn again, this time into a wolf, with matted fur the color of tar. Before he can fully turn, I lash out at him with the whip and cut him. The whip cracks again at him, and I feel it slice him. He howls and screeches, writhing on the ground an ugly beast not fully one thing or another. His teeth snap at the air. I let the whip turn to blade and pierce him, stabbing twice, until he shrieks. I'm shocked that I feel myself plunge into him, forgetting for a moment what I was taught. If you turn to something like a sword, you don't lose your sense of touch. You still feel. The air pops audibly. I watch as his eyes burn out and his body, not fully turned, shifts back to what it last was, now a dead rat.
"Hello? Are you okay? I know someone's up there. I'm, I'm calling the cops, damnit."
I hear her mumble to herself, "Great, tell the bad guy you're calling the cops. Good move."
Looking around, I see no way out. No other option then but to turn again. I'm not ready for her to meet me like this. But to what? Then I realize what I need to be.
When I was learning about humans, I discovered that they kept animals as pets. Dogs in particular. There's one that stood out in my studies. I hear her mustering the courage to open the attic, stomping around loudly and banging the shovel against the garage's walls and tables.
I unlatch the attic door and turn again. Fuck, this hurts.
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