A perfectly reasonable reason for ruining your life.

A perfectly reasonable reason for ruining your life.

I woke up the other day, slightly hungover and with the added pleasure of a couple of elephants dancing around on the inside of my skull. After a couple of hours of negotiating I finally got them to quiet down and behave, with the promise of attending their next ball. Elephants like balls.

Dragging myself out of the bed and into a pair of slacks was perhaps the hardest thing I've ever had to do, or at least it felt like it was. Though, as I've been told so many-many times, since I've never given birth or had to have an abortion I don't truly know what 'hard' means. Even though I feel that I have a very intimate notion of 'hardness'. But I digress. I settled into my chair and vacantly stared at the black computer screen, wondering why none of my favorite shows were on and howcome my left arm ached all the time. For a moment I wondered what I'd been doing the night before, but instead of trying to remember I pushed it all away - down that path lay only darkness, regret and shame. I don't mind about the shame and I don't mind darkness, I know how to use a flashlight, but regret is the worst emotion in the entire universe. Except maybe sobriety.

My coffee tasted funky and my cigarette smelt jazzy, and neither helped my stomach which was acting all rock'n'rolly. Needless to say, I was already at a disadvantage when I noticed The Fly.

The thing you have to remember about flies is that they're assholes. They're the shittiest fucking bug you'll ever have the bad fortune to encounter. There's some out there who'll claim that they're not really that bad, but those people are just fucking morons. And they should all be rounded up and gassed, just like flies. Have you ever met a fly who gave money to the poor? Who helped old women over the crosswalk? Of course you havn't, because flies are the penultimate assholes.

I heard a soft buzzing, right at the edge of reality, at first I coul just dismiss it, pretend it wasn't there or that it was my mind, trying to revive itself after the punishment I'd dealt upon it - but to little avail. The buzzing became louder and more insistant.

"Hello Numbskull," it landed on my shoulder and started to do that gross thing they do, you know, where they shit and then eat it, "you look fucking retarded - did you get raped last night?" I did mention that flies are scum yes? I didn't rise to the challenge and continued to try and ignore it, pretend that the black screen was ever more interesting than the buzzing of a mere fly. It, however, continued it's rancid monologue. "It doesn't matter cunface, I doubt that even the most sexdeprived austrian would lay his clammy hands on your body."

"Just, go away will you?" I shuddered at the thought of a Fritzel feeling up my tight body. I slapped at it and missed it by a mile, literally, I have long arms when I'm hungover. It just buzzed a laugh at me, made a somersault and landed on the computer screen. "Do you wanna know what I did last night?" It said with a smirk, eyeing me like only a fly could. "I fucked your ex." Something like bile rose in my throat and I lashed out at it - but once again it's aerocrobatics proved too much for my milelongarm. I hit my hand on the corner of the screen and cursed loudly. "You fucking insect, leave me the fuck alone."

"Hit a nerve, did I?" It buzzed around my head in larger and larger circles, and try as I might, and did, not even the air from my lashes and attempted smashes, buffeted it. "Wanna know what I did afterwards? Your whole family." It leered, landed on my hand but took off again before I could slap it. "In chronological order too. First your father, and then your mother, but the prize was your sister, hell I even fucked your dog. Remember Spot? How he liked to run around the garden with a stick in his mouth, last night it was my stick in his maw and he howled for more." At this point I'd forgotten about the futility of fighting flies, I grabbed my coffee-cup, the funky one you'll remember, and threw it at the insufferable insect. And of course I missed. The cup was shattered, funkiness spilled all over the white wall, "YOU FUCKING CUNT! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I yelled. I sprang up from my chair and grabbed a book, flung it in the direction of the fly, but it too hit the wall and smashed - spattering words and sentences all over my face and shirt.

"Woohoo! What a game we're playing! Throw more things, you son-of-a-fly-fucker!" I screamed at it and started tossing random things it's way - and everytime it dodged, provocatively graceful. More books, my keyboard, photographs, my telephone and even a handful of coins I found in my pocket. Soon I had covered the walls, and myself, in random letters, denominations and memories. But still the fly flew around me, mocking me - telling me how much my beloved pet and loved it's tiny flycock and soon it started berating me for my own faults. How I'd never amount to anything, how I pushed away those dear to me, how I sucked at playing videogames, and had never understood a single word of enochian. Of all of this, my inablity to throw like anything other than a girl stung the most.

In my futile rage I did what any sane man would've done. If you'd been pushed as far as I had been by the constant naggering of a fly, you'd undoubtedly have done the very same thing. I darted to the kitched and grabbed a handful of coals, flung them at the curtains and the curtain did what they'd done since the dawning of time, when flung at with coals, they went up in flames.
With a grin I turned the speck-fly and pointed at the growing fire. "What're you gonna do now shitforbrains?" because as we all know, flies can't leave a home by any other way than a window left carelessly open, just the way they enter. His nagging quickly turned to a whiney buzz. "You're insane, you're mad, you're nothing but a hatter!" "And you're dead, you fuck!" I retorted, my cleverness of that remark still warms me on cold nights.

Engulfed in flames I laughed at the little creature, fire is hungry and curtains quickly devoured. It flew from wall to wall, from ceiling to floor, but the flames hunted it, where-ever it went, yellow-orange mouthes bit for it. I was so certain of it's doom, so sure of it demise, that I'd forgotten all about how a house worked. A house is a roof stacked on walls, and when the walls are gone the roof is soon to follow, and that was just what happened here. With a roar and a great crash, the ceiling fell down, on top of me, on top of everything - but the fly, the nimble little skullfucker of hell, it dodged and weaved and used the warm air currents to escape.

How I survived the crashing ceiling myself I don't know, but went i returned to the wreckage of my house, my folly was clear. Everything was gone, my books, my coffee, my memories. I sat there, in the burnt ruins of my home and wondered, thought about my future and how much I'd give for just being allowed to finish my morning coffee. It was cold and the sky was overcast, small droplets of water starter spattering to the ground, every little drop having travelled miles and miles, aeons to be here, and then I heard a little noise, like a car in the distance, but much closer and much softer; "Hey dumbfuck, proud of yourself?"

I never did make it to the elephant's ball.