Flys. I dislike them. Most people dislike them; I would guess. And as you would, I spray them with a fly spray.
But do you ever think of what the fly must go through after that lethal dose of whatever brand of fly spray you use? Have you ever followed it around the house as it flys trying to get that shit off its back and wings and head and wherever else it is? Have you ever wondered what it must be like to be covered head to toe in a substance much like acid that you can not get off no matter what you do.
Obviously, I did, and I followed this poor fly around my apartment. But let me start at the start.

I got home after a disappointing day of work. Literally throw my work bag in a corner somewhere and rip the tie off from around my neck. Sort through the junk mail that constantly clutters the letterbox every single day, thinking shit, shit and more shit, only getting more depressed with the day.
Only to see it. No, more hear it. I look up to see it zoom by as if making a reconnaissance around me. And my instant thought; one obviously not to the benefit of the fly is ‘Prepare to meet your maker’ and decided that this could only improve my day.
I grab the good old mortein from the cupboard and start the chase. Cornering the fly, I feel myself smile, raise the can and spray quite liberally thinking ‘Die, you bastard, die’.
Like you, dear reader, I believe that that is the end of it. Score me one; fly zip.
But this is where kismet steps in. I like to wash my hands. I can’t help it, I like clean hands. Anyway, without detouring too much I decide to my wash my hands and happen to see in the corner Mr Fly, obviously the one I had sprayed only a minute before.
I could only guess that it wasn’t feeling too well by the way it was flying, slightly lopsided and not keeping altitude. But then I knew it was in trouble. It dropped to the floor, started spinning and making the fly equivalent to the death rattle. Sick as it sounds I watched. And wondered.
It’s definitely not a natural death.
It’s not suicide (though I would say that some would disagree).
It is, quite literally, murder. Murder of another species. Yes, there are billions upon billions of them throughout the world and you may only kill one or two every now and then, but have you ever thought of the agony the fly must go through in that last half minute of its life?
What ever happened to ‘All God’s creatures…’?