A Night Fly



The shade conceals the woods. 

The night fly buzzes gently on a midnight breeze.  

Through the dark, misanthropic wilderness, it carries Him. 

Where the horrors of pain and suffering preside.


The wind stops abruptly and so does He. 

He falls like a tower, plummeting into the Scorched Dirt.  

His wings collapse, broken and oozing.

All hope extracted, the terror yet carries. 


A toad leaps, startling and terrorizing the fly. 

But, the toad gives an impression of helpfulness to Him.  

He lifts the dying and lifeless fly up to his tiny feet.  

And as if it is an act of salvation, the terror yet carries.   


The toad engulfs the fly, enthralling it in his throat. 

The fly travels down the toads long, but narrow throat. 

He lands in the pool of acid, with toxic fumes of death. 

The fly disintegrates slowly, and then slower, and slower.  


Until the acid rips through every atom of the fly’s body.

Until every limb is scorched and crippled, and turns into dust. 

Until his mouth melts, just as he releases one last lifeless scream. 

A scream that stifles life. 


But His eyes bear it.  

His eyes.  

But why the eyes?  

Why did not the eyes melt and churn in the acid?  


Because his eyes are His enemy.  

Bigger than the toad or the night breeze. 

His eyes sustain to see. 

To see every other fly churn and reduce in the toad’s melting pot.  

And as If those flies may see others too. 


But if the eyes turn the other way,  

The toad shall die, 

and the terror yet carries.   

An infinite terror. 

An infinite terror.

An infinite, everlasting, undying, abiding, perpetual, terror. 


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