The Fly

I knew that this fly was simply attempting to buy time. The swatter hovered above him like a scythe. He began to recite poetry in hopes of convincing me of his validity.

I relished his terror, his futile attempts to sway me from my purpose. In the end, he failed. It was, in a word: adorable. The way he splashed when the swatter struck him.

His wallet contained various photographs of maggots.