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There it was, the fly.

In by Wyatt on September 30, 2010 at 6:31 pm

It there sat, little creature, sitting. It was not angry or hurtful or even clean. It was filthy and black and beady like a necklace morsel. It sat on my belly, and I breathed lightly to not disturb its still presence or engage its shallow mind.

I did stare, down my nose, at it. My chin neared my chest, it was close, and I could then see it, the fly. Outside my window, there were more like it, this I knew. But I could see this one only. It was real.

It could fly, yet instead it chose to stand.

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