The Fly Killer
A large fly buzzed around the room, occasionally bumping into window panes and walls with meaty, if slightly invertebrate, thumps. This was a large and loud one, a dark dot of about 1 centimetre whizzing and buzzing around the room.
He hated flies. It was not so much the gross and ick factor that made him detest the creatures. Rather, it was their annoying habit of flying aimlessly and buzzing incessantly. The fly buzzed across the room, orbiting his personal space several times and even intruding it occasionally.
He hated it when flies do that. While he remained comparatively motionless, the fly would suddenly be on his left, then his right, then above his head, all the while emitting that irritating buzz. It was annoying. His periphery vision occasionally caught a glimpse of it, sometimes here, other times there. The source of the sound whipped from the left to the right, not with the regularity of a Galilean pendulum, but with the infuriating unpredictability of a fly.
How he disliked those flies.
The fly buzzed towards the windows, and attached itself to a vertical glass pane, preening its fore legs. Direct sunlight shining through the glass illuminated the creature, highlighting the strange yellowish fur that lined its abdomen and the metallic maroon shade that tinged its compound eyes.
Unfortunately for the fly, he was not in an appreciative mood; he was ready to kill.
From a pile of used writing paper, he picked up a small stack of 80g/sm A4 paper, curled them into a swatting instrument, and approached the unfortunate invertebrate.
He held the swat about 20 centimetres away from the fly, and with a sudden unannounced thump, what was previously a fly became what remains of a fly. Observers noted that he held the swat in a position that would be similar to a single handed forehand in tennis, twisted his waist, hips and trailing foot in a fashion not unlike a boxer leaning into a punch, and also flicked his wrist to impart as much relative velocity as possible into the swat.
Victorious, he cursed venomously at the fly’s mother. With the edge of the swat, he proceeded to scrape the fly gunk from the window pane.
The fly stood no chance, none at all.
Personal
He hated flies. It was not so much the gross and ick factor that made him detest the creatures. Rather, it was their annoying habit of flying aimlessly and buzzing incessantly. The fly buzzed across the room, orbiting his personal space several times and even intruding it occasionally.
He hated it when flies do that. While he remained comparatively motionless, the fly would suddenly be on his left, then his right, then above his head, all the while emitting that irritating buzz. It was annoying. His periphery vision occasionally caught a glimpse of it, sometimes here, other times there. The source of the sound whipped from the left to the right, not with the regularity of a Galilean pendulum, but with the infuriating unpredictability of a fly.
How he disliked those flies.
The fly buzzed towards the windows, and attached itself to a vertical glass pane, preening its fore legs. Direct sunlight shining through the glass illuminated the creature, highlighting the strange yellowish fur that lined its abdomen and the metallic maroon shade that tinged its compound eyes.
Unfortunately for the fly, he was not in an appreciative mood; he was ready to kill.
From a pile of used writing paper, he picked up a small stack of 80g/sm A4 paper, curled them into a swatting instrument, and approached the unfortunate invertebrate.
He held the swat about 20 centimetres away from the fly, and with a sudden unannounced thump, what was previously a fly became what remains of a fly. Observers noted that he held the swat in a position that would be similar to a single handed forehand in tennis, twisted his waist, hips and trailing foot in a fashion not unlike a boxer leaning into a punch, and also flicked his wrist to impart as much relative velocity as possible into the swat.
Victorious, he cursed venomously at the fly’s mother. With the edge of the swat, he proceeded to scrape the fly gunk from the window pane.
The fly stood no chance, none at all.
Personal
Labels: compositions
posted by Tan Yee Wei at 11/24/2005 05:36:00 pm
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