That Buzzing Sound In Your Ear

Darkness ends. The sun arises, shinning bright rays into my apartment through the busted blinds that I can’t afford to fix. That’s when I hear the noise: slowly growing, echoing in my brain: bzzzzzzzz! Louder and louder, going around in circles, unable to be seen while still being heard. Oh God its growing heavier now, even louder than before. I feel as if I’m going insane by the minute, unable to locate the source of my torment and yet I know its name: fly. FLY. Those little fuckers that never stop coming, always multiplying, overwhelmingly growing until they conquer your living space. My apartment has become invaded by a parasite with wings, a monster that is food for others while existing upon the leftovers of man and whatever else it can get its disgusting feelers on.

Arming myself with a cheap plastic green fly swatter, I hunt my prey, stalking the frustrating creature as it deftly maneuvers around the room, escaping from me each time. I am trapped in a world populated by a breed of monster that spreads disease, annoys the hell out of its victims, and which can deliver painful bites when it strikes. “Man what I wouldn’t kill for a can of Raid right now,” I think to myself, acknowledging the level of frustration that has been building within me. David Cronenberg directed a movie about a man becoming a fly due to a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong, yet he never commented on how annoying the bastards can truly be. I suppose that mutating into something no one likes, even other flies, is more terrifying.

“SMACK!” goes the fly swatter as I sling it in anger and hate, looking quickly to see if I have slaughtered my foe. Alas, it is not dead: choosing instead to struggle on the carpet, endlessly buzzing still, refusing to die. I take the blunt plastic tip of the swatter and stab the fly repeatedly in a pointless effort to finish it off. Taking it into the bathroom, I flush the half dead fiend down the toilet, not wanting dead fly to stink up my trash can. “Victory!” I say to myself, confident that the nightmare is over.

Hah I should be so lucky. There are more of them, and there are even littler ones now, swarming all over the ceiling, mocking my pain and daring me to slaughter them faster than before. Everything has come into focus: I must continue to kill all of them, never stopping, never resting, until all the black coated evil bug bastards are dead. I’m awake, drunk and alone, pondering my current state and wondering “Is this my fate?” I feel defeated already.

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