That fly is taunting me. I swear it is. Just look at it! I know… You can't, but I can, and it is clearly taunting me, and it knows that it's taunting me. No fly stays on the wall for that long without having some reason. I'm onto it. I know its' game. I've been studying it. Every day it lands there; in that exact same spot to taunt me; but I've got it in my cross-hairs now. I'm going to get you. I don't know what you're planning, Fly, but I'm going to get you.
What for? I haven't done anything.
"Hah! Nice try! But flies can't talk!"
That's completely irrelevant. You haven't moved in days, maybe you should. Maybe you should get some sleep and something to eat. Maybe you should get something to eat other than sardines and tuna fish. Just a suggestion though, I mean, what do I know? I'm just a fly.
"I'm not moving an INCH! God knows what you'll do if I turn my back!"
I might fly away.
"No you won't! You'll do something, I don't know what, but you'll do it! You'll do it."
You don't even know what it is that you find so threatening about me. Maybe it will make more sense after you get some sleep, or something to eat. Maybe a nice walk outside would do you some good. You know, your family is very worried about you.
"They don't know! They wouldn't believe me if I told them! They'd think I'm… I'm crazy…"
Look at yourself. You're having trouble completing sentences. You should clean this place up a little at the very least. Open cans of fish scattered everywhere, urine stains in the carpet, this is no way for a man of twenty-eight to live.
"Okay, okay, I will get up. I'm not going to clean, or get any sleep, or eat, or ANYTHING else you told me to do. You probably poisoned my food."
Why would I do that? I've done nothing but look out for your best interests so far. You're the one putting yourself through all this. No one but you made you pollute your apartment like you did. "Pollute" is the only word I can think of to describe it. The air is putrid, and the paint is peeling from a combination of all the things you've put this room through. Maybe you should eat something, or go to sleep, or clean up. Really, anything would be a move in the right direction.
"Okay I'm getting up now, but I'm going to be watching you the ENTIRE time, and I'm getting my gun. So watch yourself."
Alright Ed, get up slowly. Don't turn your back…. There you go. Good, he's still there. Still there… Still there… Still there… GONE! Oh God! Where's the gun!
Got it, but where is he now?
I'm right here. I got tired of that spot, just as you got tired of your spot. We have so much in common, which might be a good reason to put that gun down, instead of trying to kill me with that gun you've got in your hand. A good way to start not killing me with the gun you've got pointed at me is to set it down on your night stand.
Maybe I should humor it. Yeah… I'll put the gun down; throw it off, and then BANG! Shoot it in its' tiny little fly head.
Alright, good, there you go. See? You didn't need the gun. Now, I'm going to fly right through that door, right through the one behind you. You go to sleep, and get something to eat, and I'll go away and probably do the same.
"No! Get away!"
Ed! Put the gun down! Put it down! You'll wake the neighbors and make a big mess. You really shouldn't shoot! You really shouldn't sho-
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
"Wha… Where am I? Where's the fly! Where's the fly! Where's-"
"Calm down Mr. Montgomery. I'm Dr. Silmuth, and I'm here to help you. You're in St. Mary's Hospital, and you've been out for a few days. Do you remember what happened to you?"
"Not entirely, but the last thing I remember is the fly coming off the wall. It was coming for me, I know it, and I know it was that fly that put me in here."
"I'm sorry Mr. Montgomery, but your injuries appear to have nothing to do with a fly. You came in with a nasty gunshot wound in your face. It wasn't the right placement to kill you, but it sure did a number on you. You know, you're lucky that your landlord was passing by when he did, or you might be dead."
"Gunshot…? What? No… No that's not…"