Fly Boom in My Room

Zip went the fly up and up and up to the moon-pitted ceiling, looping over and buzzing on in an impossible straight line till he reached the wall and dove -- not straight now, but zigzagging, pulling up at the carpet -- free, easy, a zillion eyes on wings, careening around the bedpost toward the bookshelf, beating the air into submission, screaming a fly scream, wishing for a horse, or a Twinkie, or a mate or some feces, charging, zooming, booming a fly boom, flipping six legs to a copy of "The Great Gatsby," landing on east egg beside the green light -- in the water -- hot, but happy.

It was his second day -- his last.

Find more by David Alan Jones in the Author Index.

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