The Philosofly

This story was born on a cold Sunday evening in late February. It was the end of a quiet, unproductive weekend, spent alone, doing nothing but watching tv, reading, eating. You know those kind of days - we all have them - idle pointless days. 

This particular evening I was joined in my night time ablutions by a fly. It was restless, trapped and seemed to me to be in distress. Taking pity on the little insect, I climbed out of the bath, carefully trapped it under a glass and let it out of the window. As I settled back under the bubbles I found myself wondering what it would be like to have a chat with a fly. The story, which follows, is how I envisage my the conversation would have gone on that wet, empty evening. 

THE PHILOSOFLY 

I am sure that the fly didnt mean to end up in my bathroom that evening, but I was genuinely happy to have it's company. It had been a long and empty winter day and, other than droplets of rain running down the window panes, the fly was the first living thing I had seen all weekend. 

I removed my glasses and dropped them, and the novel I had been reading, onto the closed lid of the toilet. Reaching out, I picked up my glass of wine and, as I sipped the last drops, I watched as the tiny insect flew frantically around the room, crashing into the walls and ceiling until finally, it came to rest on the discarded book. 

Perhaps it was my imagination but the fly seemed to be watching me! I covered my naked protrusions with bubbles and greeted it with a cheery "Hello, how are you?" The sound of my voice must have startled the little creature as, once again, it took flight, zooming too and fro, until finally it bumped heavily into the shower cubicle and dropped noiselessly to the floor!

The house was silent again and I pondered on where the fly had come from so early in the season and what could have brought it into my bathroom. Was it escaping the rain? Chasing the scent of my fermented fruit drink? Was it the smell of my Radox Rosemary and Eucalyptus bubble bath? Or was it simply an unfortunate accident? Probably. 

I closed my eyes and, soothed by, the smell of the bubbles and heat of the water, I drifted off into a day dream.

A moment later, the frantic buzz began again and I heard a gentle tap as the fly came to land somewhere close to my head. I still cannot believe I am writing this, but I heard a high-pitched voice say ...

"C'mon, c'mon - wake up already - you can't start talking to a guy and then give him the silent treatment. Wake up giant!"

I opened my eyes and saw that the fly had come to rest of the side of the bath.

Surprised and amused, I  replied “You again! Sorry if I startled you before. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Nah,” said the fly. “Hazard of the job.” 

I picked up my wine - after all its not every day a girl hears a fly talk! Perhaps there was something in my drink? I stared into the glass but saw nothing but a red stain

The fly studied me for a moment, then spoke again. “Glass is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

I glanced at him, curious but silent. He continued.

“Take windows, for example. You humans stare out of them, dreaming of somewhere else. Meanwhile, we flies keep trying to get in - thinking that there’s more on the other side.”

“Maybe we’re both confused about where we’re supposed to be,” I replied.

“Isn’t that life?” he observed. “Just trying different windows until one opens?”

Stunned, I stared at the fly. Then I laughed. “That’s pretty deep for a creature who spends its days buzzing around and feasting on rotten fruit.”

He ignored my slight, and carried on talking “And yet, here we are - two creatures, both looking for something more.”

“When I was younger,” I said, “I thought life had a plan. That there was a reason I was here, I had a purpose - something greater. But now, on days like this, it just feels like... noise.”

“There’s plenty of noise,” he agreed. “But even in the buzz, there is beauty. I only get a few weeks to live, you know. So every crumb, every shaft of sunlight is meaning enough for me.”

“You find meaning in crumbs?” I asked, incredulously.

“You find it in books, in art, in long walks,” he replied. “I find it in warmth, motion, the breeze through an open door. Same hunger - just a different feast.”

“What if there is no meaning?” I asked, now completely drawn in by this tiny philosopher.

“Then why not create one?” said the fly “You write poetry, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” I admit, as realisation dawns.

“Then you know. Meaning isn’t something you find. It’s breathed, its buzzed, it is written - one moment at a time.”

“You’re a strange little teacher,” I said with a smile

“And you’re a giant, who thinks too much,” he replied. “Seems we both have our place in this strange, spinning world.”

The fly began to lift off, hovering in mid air. He, paused and looked back one last time.

“Well... I’d stay longer, but somewhere out there there is a discarded banana skin that’s calling my name. Goodbye giant".

With a zip and hum, he bumped his way around the bathroom until he found the opening in the window and vanished into the night.

"Goodbye tiny philosopher, I said, to the empty space." 

Outside, the rain had stopped and in the street below, I heard the muffled sounds of conversation. I lay still for a long moment - confused. Was I dreaming? I must have been! But it felt so real?

I shivered, raised myself out of the now cool water and climbed out of the bath. As I wrapped the towel tightly around my dripping form, I am sure I heard a tiny voice, whisper "Breath..., Buzz...., Write" and quietly, somewhere deep inside my spirit smiled.