When I got home last night after cycling back from work, I sat on the settee for a minute to catch my breath (and the end of Deal or No Deal) hurting nobody, when a tiny fly dive bombed my eyeball. It pinged as it tried to penetrate my lens, then wriggled a lot, cunningly avoiding my finger nail as I scraped it across that little ledge between my lash and eyeball. It's probably got a name, the ledge that is, not the fly. Well, perhaps the fly had a name.
I'm sure it's dead now. I can feel it, lodged under my eyelid, but eerily (or eyeily?) there is no movement.
It's rather unpleasant to have experienced death so 'in my face'. I'm also annoyed that out of all the cubic metres available to it in my sitting room, the fly chose to collide with my eye. I expect this is how astronauts feel when out of the infinite expanse of the universe, one of those pesky flakes of paint collide with their sensitive equipment (I'm talking about the outside of the space shuttle here - you're very naughty people sometimes).
Being an even minded sort of person, I can feel sorry for the little fly, and will spare a thought for it at intervals today. A little fly funeral maybe - I could hum a hymn on my bike this morning and say a little prayer for the fly soul as it makes the journey to join his mates who have been splattered across windscreens.
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2 comments:
Those little tiny floaty flies? I got one up my nose the other week. Why do they fly so close to us when it so often ends in a gruesome death? Shouldn't they have evolved to spot us coming and fly away by now? I feel your pain... I hope you got him out in the end!
I'm not sure he did come out, it's a bit worrying really.
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