The Demon Fly
I admit, the fly buzzed loud and sounded like a whole swarm of tiny fuzzy bodied transparent winged demons invading the quiet of the house. Just the dog and me. He, the dog, is watching me cook, waiting for fallout from the counter, and it better be delicious. Meat not vegetable. I saw it in his eyes. First, he thought he heard something but wasn’t sure. Then he grew more certain and stepped back from his spot beside me, away even from potential meaty fallout. Then he saw it. Fat and ominous with its silver blue back, hairy, with a head of mostly bulbous complex eyes. Big and slow moving, as far as flies go. The dog was gone in a panicked scramble. His little toenails scraping furiously across the hardwood as he fled to the safety beneath the bed, where he remained for a day and a bit, even after I murdered the slow-moving fly.
Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not – Samuel Johnson