Writer A

Report from Cedric C. Fly

May 2, 2017

There is a square room full of windows that look out on my former home, the land of green grass and trees with their leaves still in buds. There’s one bush out there that’s nothing but purple flowers. I’m almost mad with looking at that bush! I’ve inspected every inch of those windows, but they’re all sealed—like my fate—I fear I must accept the moniker “house fly,” now, for the remainder of my days, which are likely to be short.

The square room with windows is not at all a safe place for a house fly. It is the most frequently occupied by the humans of all the rooms in the house. There are two children who live here, and the square room seems to be their favorite play spot. There is one girl and one boy, quite young, though both walking and talking. The girl seems to be older—at least she is taller and more articulate, and the boy follows her around and mimics her. They both keep as busy as any fly—I would even say as an ant! I can’t tell what sort of preparations they’re making. They take toys and books and all sorts of things off of every shelf, and put it all over the floor, seemingly at random, with great speed and enthusiasm. Then the mother comes along and collects everything and returns it to the shelves, and this happens repeatedly. It might be a game.

The mother and the girl and the boy are at home a lot. This is disagreeable to me. Whenever I fly, I buzz—and whenever I buzz, one of the humans looks right at me in a way I do not like. I’ve heard stories of what happens to flies who become house flies. But I haven’t been attacked yet.

There’s another room where the humans spend a lot of time, though with considerable less movement. They sit down. The children stare at a screen on the wall which I assume is what’s called a television. The mother sits down next to a basket full of colorful balls of soft stuff, what she calls her “yarn stash.” She holds a thin silver instrument in one hand and a bit of yarn and just sits there. For literally hours.

There’s a father too who is away during the day, and when he comes into the house the children squeal and bounce around and hug him. In fact, I’ve observed that hugs are something that happen a lot in here.

Writer D

“Dee to Base, Dee to Base, this is Dee Fly reporting from the new potential territory. I have cleared security and am in the house!”

“Roger that. What are your findings? Is there enough filth to support our growing colony?”

“I have surveyed what appeared to be the mud room and found plenty of said “mud.” Forgive me if I am mistaken, sir, but I don’t believe that is the kind of filth we are looking for. There is plenty of that outside where we currently reside.”

“Yes, yes. What do you see now?”

“I am in an uncomfortably large room with large glass doors, the ceiling slants all the way up to another level. It would be easy to escape hostility in here, but I find it impossible to get my bearings, I can’t tell if I’m outside or in. And there is nothing to land on but huge empty walls with no cover.”

“What about people? Do you see any people?”

“Oh my, yes! Good news, sir, there are small children!”

“Are they dirty?”

“They are….colorful?…what are they doing? They are making colorful puddles on paper with a stick? I am not sure sir, they appear very dirty, but it does not smell like filth.”

“How many of them are there?”

“There are four of them. They are all making the puddles on the paper. And they are very loud.”

“Any other adults? Any filth, Dee? We don’t have much time!”

“Yes, I see a man at a computer. And a woman in the kitchen.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere! Tell me about the kitchen!”

“It is a mess…”

“Good, good!”

“…But she appears to be happily making the mess. And she is armed with two fly swatters within reach. I can’t see much opportunity to get in on these spoils while she is there.”

“If you can just survive until their meal is finished!”

Writer B

Well crap. My mother warned me about this. “Stay away from open doors,” she was always telling me during the few short hours of my childhood. “Once you go in, you never come out.” I don’t really know what happened. I saw the door, started to veer away, and then was overcome by the cornucopia of smells that wafted out. Like a fly in a trance, I buzzed right in to investigate, and now, sure enough, I’m stuck. I spent my teenage hours exploring in hopes of finding a way out, but as the hopelessness of that became more and more apparent, I dedicated my early adult hours to observing the family whose home I’m going to die in.

Now, as part of my flyish midlife crisis, I’m narrating what I’ve observed, in hopes that I can spend my golden hours in peace.

The thing is, it’s a pretty nice place to expire. It’s big but not too big, with some bright airy rooms and some dark quiet nooks. There seem to be people everywhere, which means there’s also food everywhere, which means there’s also trash everywhere, which means I have plenty to eat.

Of course, the tall lady (who the smaller ones call “Mom”) keeps trying to make the trash go away, but the joke’s on her. I’m virtually an expert in trash and let me tell you, with that many boys in the house, she’ll never succeed.

Those boys, I like ‘em. They’re loud, but in a fun way. The biggest one, he’s not so loud. You can tell the others look up to him, but mostly he seems to kind of quietly observe the rest. But the other three, well, there’s a whole lot of wrestling and chasing and theatrical singing, and the littlest one contributes a fair amount of not-so-playful screaming. They all laugh a lot. I like that. Flies don’t laugh.

There’s a boy who is even bigger than the rest, and the others call him “Dad.” He comes and goes throughout the day, sometimes retreating to a building across the yard to do something called “work.” I assume it has something to do with helping decompose trash. (Although I don’t know what “computers” and “marketing” and “software” have to do with that.)

When Dad comes over, the cute loud little guy turns all happy, and runs to him shouting his name with his arms widespread, ready for a hug. Flies don’t hug either. It seems nice. This whole family does a lot of hugging.

Although the boys are the ones creating the trash, Mom is the biggest contributor to my food supply, because she spends lots of her time in the room called the kitchen, doing all kinds of unnecessary things to food, like chopping it up and making it hot. The little guys run in and out and ask her questions, and sometimes she smiles when she answers and sometimes she tells them to please leave her alone. But she always helps them.

That older boy, the only quiet one, he’s always looking at books or fiddling with toys that turn from cars into robots. The next one seems very responsible and athletic. He sat down at the table after eating and did all kinds of work on paper that I didn’t understand, but it had something to do with “school.” Then he went outside and threw a football. He always seemed to land it exactly where he wanted to. Good aim. The one who’s not quite littlest obviously adores his big brothers. He’s a character, and seems to be always talking. The littlest guy seems both very cute and very demanding. Everyone seems to adore him, even Mom, who keeps asking him why he’s so crazy.

They all seem to be very happy when Dad comes home, even though the little one is the only one who runs to him happily screaming. And Dad also seems very happy to be home, and I don’t blame him. I do wish I was still outside, living in the fresh air as I know I was intended to. But I also wish that I could hold on to this happiness and warmth, even for a little while. It must be nice to not be a fly.

Oh no. That one boy, the responsible one with good aim? Well, he’s headed straight for me with a fly swatter…Arrivederci.

Writer C

It’s freezing out here in this cold mountain air! I gotta get inside somewhere. Oh, what’s that? A door to a human habitat is opening. Who is that coming out? Looks like the alpha male, along with his male offspring. The offspring is carrying a pouch on his back. [Gasp!] I bet he’s going to one of those institutions where all the young human larva go. They all gather together in one room and learn about the ways of their kind. They wipe their noses with their hands, and then smear it on their desks! They sneeze on one another and leave food to rot inside their little cubbies. I’ve heard marvelous things about those germ-infested wonderlands! Oh, if only I could go along. But – no time! Now’s my chance to get into their warm habitat.

Whew! Just made it in by the skin of my absorbent, sponge like mouth. I’d better land somewhere so I can take in my surroundings. Let’s see. We’ve got a mother, a younger female offspring, and, oh boy! It’s an adolescent male! I’ve heard of these! Their dwellings smell of old socks and candy wrappers – I’ve got to find the place where he sleeps! Wow! He seems to be in a hurry. He’s skittering to and fro like a chicken with its head cut off (which, by the way, happens to be one of my favorite meals). He just picked up his own pouch; off he goes, out the door. I hope he left some pizza in his room.

Now let’s see…the mother and the young female are sitting down at the table. But they’re not eating…they’re opening some books. Oh…Oh no! What a shame! Can this BE?? Instead of sending the young girl to the germ-infested institution, they are institutionalizing her HERE? In this semi-sterile, quiet habitat??! Oh, for the love of all things unsanitary. These humans are torturous to their offspring! Well, anyway, I don’t have any need for books. I’m hungry! Where’s the trash? Let’s see…Oh boy, the sink! Jackpot! It’s piled with dishes with little bits of food all over. Mmmm!! Bacon, eggs, bread! What a feast. That was decadent. It’s time for me to find a high place to take a snooze.

                                        …

Ahh. That was nice. Let’s see, what’s new? Ah! I see the mother and child are having their in-between meal. Time for me to swoop in and see what I can snatch up. They look gentle enough. I’m sure they won’t mind. Here I go.

Oh! Uh-oh! They’re swatting! That small one has got quite the gumption – and aim! Oh dear. The mother got a dishrag. I better split! Ack! She’s chasing me! She’s ruthless! Hey lady, all I wanted was a bit of your kid’s food – gimme a break! Whew! She left in another direction.  

Oh, she came back. Oh…oh dear…she’s holding the very thing we flies fear the most…the Swatter of DOOOOOOOOM! Hey, back off lady! I never did anything to you! I didn’t do anything wrong! I am washing my hands of this! And hey, while I’m licking my hands I might as well lick my face. And then I’ll lick my hands again. And then my face. Wahh! Another close call! I better find a crevice. Here’s one next to the cupboard door. Whew. Haha! Take that, you hairless  mammal! Who do you think you are anyway?! You can’t ge—

This was our prompt:

Narrate your life from the point of view of a house fly, who just got trapped inside your house, and wants to learn as much as possible, as quickly as he can, about the family he’ll spend the rest of his very short lifespan with. – 20 minute challenge