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The final days of a fly in a refrigerator. (Complete)


Durandal!

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I am writing this in memorium of a fly a good friend of mine had found in the mini fridge propped up against the chalkboard wall in my lime green room. Little guy never asked for a death such as that. And without probable cause for anything otherwise, I can only blame myself.

 

Tuesday April 14, 2007. A cloudy, rainy day if I'm remembering correctly. Jacob Gaulin, Macon Cummings, Zachary Peckham and myself. Strapping young lads ready to take the day for ourselves. A fresh twelve pack of Pepsi sitting on the chipped, pock-marked wooden floor. Warm. Caramel Color 5. The bright blue and white box forgotten behind the Pac-Man themed coffee table. I believe it was Macon who took the initiative to actually open the fridge and put the cans in. Warm pepsi has always been mankinds most unsettling beverages. No lie.

 

So he opens the tiny door. No trembling in his hands when he picks up the frozen, lifeless exoskeleton of a house fly. Legs curled inwards. Eyes still carrying the sheen of a new kaleidoscope. Proboscus at the ready, he sad there in the palm of my good friend's hand. And it was at that time that I began questioning how a fly could get in there. A mini fridge door, in the eyes of a house fly, would measure up with a side of a skyscraper. Thus would rule out any chance of a suicide. And I rarely used the refrigerator. It never proved as useful as I once thought it would. I would touch it maybe once every two weeks or so.

 

Exept last week.

 

That was when it hit me. Minutemade Lemonade. A twelve pack. Fridge box. It made perfect sense. I opened the door, the fly flew in. And as it flew in, I threw the box in and slammed it shut. That had to have been it. The only reasonable explanation. I had sealed the little guy's tomb. He froze to death in a forest of Nilla Wafers and sweet & sour packets. It must have been a terrible way to go.

 

 

 

Not five seconds after the thought ran through my head, I could see it. Small letters scratched into the plastic inlay of the interior of the refrigerator. I almost needed a magnifying glass to read them. In letters 3 millimeters high,

 

"Who the f*ck keeps Nilla Wafers in a fridge?"

 

 

 

In another life, I may have called him friend.

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