Musca Domestica

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: May 04, 2017

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Submitted: May 04, 2017

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I hate the rain. It’s raining. Fat globules run down the window next to me and I look out. Each droplet sends ripples in the ponds forming on the ground outside. I’m sitting here in this chair, the wooden seat pressing hard against my ass. 

I have 2 pages left. The assignment is for 2 pages. What I’m really doing is staring at a blank page. Musca Domestica, or the life of the common housefly. It started out easy enough. I typed fly into google and suggests fly... ing pig. I can think of a bunch of things to write about flying pigs. First, they must be delicious. They must have huge wings to be able to carry around all that heft. Pork wings, anyone? Second, I imagine, at some point, the wings must be so big and muscular, that you’d be able to ride one. A porkgasus. You know, pegasus, but pig. 

I could write a million things on porkgasus but I can’t. I have to try to stay on topic. It starts raining harder and now there’s that sound the rain makes when it’s absolutely pounding everything outside, tin garage roofs and all. I try to concentrate.

The one thing I know about the housefly is that it lives one day. Right? I saw that on a Pixar's A Bug’s Life. One day to live. Maybe I can write about that?

Musca Domestica lives for 24 hours. It’s born, it performs it’s mating duties, and it dies. In the time that it lives, does Musca Domestica love?

Does it love? What kind of a question is that? I’m getting distracted again. Now porkgasus, that’s something to be loved. Loved for it’s deliciousness and it’s horselike transportation. But a fly? Unloved and unloving. 

So a fly doesn’t love. Or, I’ve just decided that flies don’t love. Cold bastards. Delete, delete, delete. Ok, so.

Musca Domestica lives for 24 hours. It’s born, it performs it’s mating duties, and it dies. In the time that it lives, does Musca Domestica hate?

If they did, I’d bet they’d hate the rain just as much as I do. One rain droplet and that fly is as dead as my grandma. Then again, who has time to hate when you only have 24 hours to live? Maybe the flies simply don’t have the time to hate, haven’t evolved the feature. What a joy for them because the rain is obviously distracting me from asking the right questions here. Delete, delete, delete. My head feels hot.

I go to lay down on my couch, away from the ruckus at the window. I close my eyes and when I open them again, a fly is buzzing around my face. I watch it for a while, at it’s apparent aimlessness, just flying around in circles above me. Finally, I decide to swat it out of the air, after which it bounces a few times on the floor and lands under a minifridge. I close my eyes again.

Musca Domestica lives for 24 hours. It’s born, it performs it’s mating duties, and it dies. In the time that it lives, does Musca Domestica know it’s alive?


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