Omniscient Third
#1 of Short Stories
Omniscient Third
By Glycanthrope
Allow me to introduce myself: I am a fly.
A very ordinary housefly, at times drab black and grey, at other times iridescent as light reflects off of my body and wings and turns to colour. Perhaps nothing to write home about - and very few people do. Even my mother when she watched me squirm to get out of my warm and moist cocoon, wished I had been something else, something more useful or perhaps appetising, but this is what fate wanted me to be: a common housefly. You may have seen me on your wall or table without really noticing me, or if you did notice you would perhaps chase me away or would even want to swat me
- if it was not because I would make a nasty splotch.
And now, dear reader, you may be wondering how you can listen to a fly talking, how you can read a fly's mind, but the fact is that a furry writer proved able to communicate with me, and found my views and the impressions I receive with my hundreds of eyes interesting enough for him to put to paper. For I have travelled and seen much of the world, from all angles, and many were the thoughts that rushed through my little brains. Some of the impressions, insignificant as they may seem, my writer and I wish to pass on to posterity. At the same time this will also be my farewell, as I have now realised that my moments are numbered and I shall soon know the unknown.
My life has not been wasted, and I may have come to know more about human conditions and destiny than many humans. I've been an invisible creature in kitchens, in bathrooms and bedrooms, in lounges, shops and offices, and unnoticed I watched the way they gluttonised and swilled their drink and food and grew and swelled and panted as they moved around, while cursing the tiny bits of food that we tried to save for ourselves.
I have seen how they struggle and suffer to gather wealth, while ignoring starving members of their own species and robbing each other of what they thought would make them happy. I saw them loving each other - and themselves. I watched them ignore and hurt, hate and annihilate each other. I saw lovers parting and suffering in jealousy, and I felt so sad that -if my eyes had been made differently, some of them would certainly have shed tears.
And their humanity, their ability to think and act as individuals, how did they live that out? From my wall, I watched them spend precious time behind the papers they use to kill us with, and in front of boxes radiating deceptive light, after which they rallied behind random humans who would lead them in any right direction, something that would make us flies burst out with laughter
-if we had only been able to feel mirth.
At this moment, I'm caught in the glue of a fly-paper; a human and humiliating invention meant to bring suffering to those they don't understand. It is as if we who have the will to help them see the beauty of the world, do not belong.
They don't see eye to eyes with us, but pretend to observe and to listen to us, while trying to make us do like they do - or they will hate us.
The fly-paper was sprayed with a substance of an irresistible smell and taste, and though I felt an instinctive repulsion, the lure was so overwhelming that even at a long distance it made my proboscis water and drew me close with an almost supernatural power.
When at first we land on the trap, we are so preoccupied with the delicacy that we're not aware of the danger of the sticky surface. We hardly notice that one foot is stuck -and if we do notice, we remain confident that we can easily pull it out after we have exhausted the sweet venom. Even when two or three feet are stuck, we still put our trust in the remaining three and our wings to be strong enough to carry us away. Forgetful, we close our eyes to the silent killer, until the unending source of pleasure has been drained, and we find ourselves bound feet, wings and mind.
But humans don't realise that in killing us, they also kill a hundred eyes that see things in ninety eight ways more than they do.
You might envy me my multiple eyes that take in millions of impressions each day. At no time of the day or night are all of our eyes at rest. Some will always have to be alert and observant or important incidents get lost. All these millions of impressions are sucked up, not as one whole, but viewed from hundred different angles by eyes that have to be cleared and cleaned all the time of dust and moisture to make sure that one should not get stuck in outdated ideas and opinions, or fall for new superficialities.
Flies and fleas, beetles and birds, without scheming we all do our best to survive, to secure the future for those who come after us and never forgetting what our ancestors taught. But these giants, single or in monstrous masses, molest and kill their fellows, building enormous gadgets that one day - according to my furry writer, will backfire and destroy the destroyers. In a way I am lucky that I shall not see that day. One might suspect that deep down they hate life and try to rid themselves and all others of it as fast as possible.
I now notice that my six legs and one of my wings are glued to the paper. I'm lost and my sight is failing as my eyes are drying and dying with horrifying haste, their lines of communication extinct. In a few seconds I shall have to bid farewell to this world, which seems to endarken around me. Will there be another one after this? Shall I wake up as a fly again or as something else?
It's so dark, but with my last few eyes I can still sense a glimpse of ... More light!