150-Word Story: For the Flies

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For the Flies

A single fly. Resting on the inside of a window. Rubbing his front legs together, like an old woman warming her hands by the fire.

Another fly lands on the window. A third. A fourth. Ten. Twenty. They keep on coming. And soon the glass is alive with a carpet of black and grey chaos.

From the outside, they are silent. Inside, they hum and they buzz and they flap their wings. They stomp their feet on a half-eaten sandwich. They glide over a cup of unfinished coffee, now covered with a furry skin of mould.

Beside the abandoned lunch, a chair. Behind the chair, a shoe. A leg. Twisted. A hip. Fractured. A heart. Beatless.

Somebody’s mother. Somebody’s grandmother. Broken.

A feast for the flies.


This was written for a competition based on the prompt “fly”. When looking through the other entries, I realised that most of them were about flying in some form or other.

It’s a little bit disturbing to realise that when presented with the prompt “fly”, most people automatically think of something as freeing and beautiful as flying, whereas my mind automatically thinks fly > flies > dead body > decomposing.

I’m sure a good psychologist could help there, but perhaps it’s best not to pull at that thread.

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4 thoughts on “150-Word Story: For the Flies

  1. Yeah. That’s interesting. I wonder why people think of “fly” in the freeing sense rather than the bug sense. Maybe the former is more pleasant?

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