Tammy Curtis, Publisher
You are never going to convince me flies are not part of some organized and official training mission from their commander. As soon as it warms up, what are the first things we do? Spring cleaning and open our doors and windows to welcome the warm air. This action instigates some sort of telepathic signal to Colonel Frankie Fly. He in turn alerts his obedient fly cadets to the said opened door. How do these little mini aviators know humans hate them, yet manage to report within two minutes flat to their said duty station for warm weather land and buzz time? Their single mission is to drive the lady who just cleaned her house crazy and walk upon on surfaces with their tainted, hairy feet so she will be forced to reclean. Armed with a fly swat and hangingfly tape, the Swat Master enters battle with the crazed crew. Their rank is easily recognizable as ten go to the ceiling and the six with the reddest eyes buzz to the floor in some strategic plan of attack on the hated human. The most intelligent and highly trained of the200 lands on a high hanging station from which he cannot be detected to relay intel to the others. The youngest position themselves on non-flat surfaces like a chair backs, hoping to remain undetected. They force her to show her skill with quick fly and land missions, but scared to be the first to fall. Nope, Frankie Fly strategically pre-planned this attack days earlier. He knew the weak and instructed the low-ranking air flies to land there where they would be safe in hope of living out their 28 day lives. The older of the swarm, nearing their28 days, become kamikaze flies as they rapidly land on counter tops, floors and appliances, planning to take a swat for their young in the mission. Some meet their tortuous death at the dreaded glue of the newly hung fly tape and will be used an example of what not todo for the next class. One by one the annihilation at the end of the dreaded device begins. They maneuver closer and continue at full force, flapping their wings and mocking the Swat Master. They refuse to direct their flight to the fly paper after seeing the defeat of some of the less intelligent. They land, observe and then again, take flight. One by one they go down, yet Frankie and his co-commander Felix Fly seem to always prevail. Together, they join forces and take aim at the enemy’s face and body. They buzz into her in some sort of meager effort to thwart her attempts at the further slaughter of their devoted followers. And then there were two. Or so she thinks. Frankie and Felix first land on the ceiling and sit in wait until the carrier of the swat jumps to reach them, flailing with her device to seal their fate. It is only when her self-confidence is at its highest that 10 more cadets re-turn to the battlefield… this time from the B team. They enter buzzing at full force from a secondary room with no open window or door. Their commander’s initial instruction was to hover and lay low until the last swat crashes and is surrendered. Only then should they advance for a secondary attack. And they do. But, like the rest of their battalion, they slowly fall to their fate, one by one, crashing to contaminate the Swat Master’s pre-cleaned surfaces. The few surviving cadets gather around the bodies of their lost to offer their condolences, seconds before meeting their own fate, in mass. This pattern continues until very faint sounds prevail. If you listen closely, Colonel Frankie can be heard radioing to the two lone, yet hidden survivors, “Abort Mission.” But, he too is soon detected and the Swat Master takes him down, in his one last valiant attempt to pre-vail from atop the light fixture. His skill was no match for the massive handheld device. As suddenly as the swarm of fly cadets appeared they are gone, in a mass casualty situation…until the next time, the door swings open. Now to clean up their remains and shut the front door
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