Fly on glass
By WillSimpson
- 781 reads
A Fly on glass,
If I spent all my time as an effort in the air, as I do now on the ground, then I would be amazed if suddenly without any effort I began to float up high and remain still. This question comes about through consciousness. Yet when the words are read repeatedly one finds that there is no question. No matter how often you read it there is no question in those words.
But there is something..
Imagine yourself as a fly, buzzing around, meeting up with friends on a big pile of shit for a nightly intake of fumes.
“Fucking hell mate, you won't believe it!”
“Whats that like our kid?”
“It's happened again marra, I used my telepathy and stopped flapping mid flight and I remained still in the air.”
What we see but don't hear is one fly talking casually about a strange experience that has recently been occurring.
But no matter how much he tries to explain his mid flight break he cannot manage to get through to his pal.
“I swear down now on our Maurine's lava, I fucking walked about in mid air son, I did the air walk.”
“So tell me this then, how come the big hand didn't slap it on yea for being still, you know what the old flies keep saying about remaining still”
“I don't know how but soon as I fired the wings back up I could slide and swirl, I dodged his slap”
~
Still they bicker on all the while more flies are popping in for one last sherbet at the stinking horse dung.
“Look here comes cross eye the old fly, let's ask him”
“Hey cross eye, what do you know about air walking?”
“Well lads, I tell you one thing, many say its the last thing we do before we meet the maker”
“oohh noo I'm shaking in me boots”
“I was told a tale when I was just a maggot, stories of strange flat worlds in which we stand and remain about and above ground, some say there's a place where the bodies are piled up high and there's so many even the spider's don't take away the corpse”
“This is rubbish, I am here aren't I, Is this not proof that the old tales are heresy?”
“maybe so, but it remains that those who stay still when they should be flying soon get stamped down with a hand, whether they are on ground or fucking walking about in mid air! As you so fruitfully put it”
Now as the fly lands on glass his eyes cannot see the glass, instead he is fixed by the sensation that he is walking on air. This fascinates him and keeps him amused, until a giant hand comes down and splats him, as his life flashes before his eyes he remembers one thing.
That silence is more golden than walking.
For a fly that means remaining still.
For me though the short story means much more, for me it is a projection of my own inner self, I am the fly and I am the hand that will eventually swat the fly, so how did a question arise out of consciousness?
The question is, is my life floating up high only to be swatted out of existence, and do flies find pieces of glass fascinating because they can't see them?
Somehow those questions will be united in common. Another question has therefore arisen out of consciousness.
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