I shudder in this cage of brittle bones, glacial pulse murmuring.
Buses thunder past, the background to an immeasurable span of time. Condensation fills my cavities, water welling me up, weighing me down.
Winter is grey, clouds fly past like migrating birds. The nights count down, a clock comprised of light and dark; the sky a porcelain face. Death is embraced in the falling leaves, brown then grey then nothing on the tree.
Warmth wakes me. My spiracles dry as air from the opening window frame kisses life into me like a flame.
I buzz and flip. Wings flutter. My proboscis twitches. My heart mutters against my abdomen. I leap aloft into the spring time zephyr, buzzing with joy of life renewed, revived.
BANG.
A rolled up newspaper slams the glass. The window vibrates. A smear of blood.
“Shit, I’m going to have to clean that up.”
The end.
The prompt word I used for this flash fiction was revived which I have highlighted in bold in the story. I decided to embrace the spirit of strict flash fiction with this story by writing to an exact word count of 150 words. This is harder than you may think, but ultimately rewarding, as you can find a real economy of language through the editing process. The story of this fly awakening to its spring time revival is purposefully written in a sensory manner as I wanted to avoid the pitfalls of anthropomorphism. Just in case it was a little too obscure, here is a website that explains some of the things that I considered about insect anatomy in researching this tragic tale of one fly's demise.
Thanks for reading.
@raj808. Thank you.