Perhaps it was because we left the door open.
It seems like the most probably explanation for all the flies in our small 450-square-foot apartment. And one horse fly, which buzzed noisily in our bedroom.
But whatever the reason, the files were buzzing all over my house. I did not like it. Their little legs would land on me and crawl up my skin. They flew into my hair and buzzed in my ears. And their little black bodies are just plain ugly.
At first, my thought was that I didn’t have a fly swatter. Which was true. It is pretty easy to kill flies with fly swatters. But then I realized I had a spatula. And it was pretty much like a fly swatter.
So I got the spatula out of the kitchen. My husband lay on the bed, completely not annoyed at the flies.
I wielded the spatula.
At first, I only thought there were four or five flies in the house. But after killing, one, two, three, I realized there were much, much more, as if they were replicating somewhere in the cooks and crannies of our apartment.
I kept swatting.
The guts spilled out on the ceiling, on the kitchen counter, in the sink, in the bathroom, in the bedroom. Their blood splattered my white walls.
The horse fly sat half dead on a towel, barely able to move. He got flushed down the toilet.
And then, I was done. Not a fly left. Over ten killed.
I was victorious.
Except for now, a few weeks later, the flies buzz around me again.
I didn’t even leave the door open this time. I think they are out to get me . . .