carolineawesome

It was warm outside this morning, beautiful weather. Monday morning, just a regular Monday, everyone was quiet and tired. Things went on as usual, until after lunch. I was going to my favorite table to pack. The first thing I did was to look up at the window-corner, went on with work for a few seconds and then looked back. Something was wrong; things weren’t like they’re used to be.

He was gone. His friend, or what to call him, where still there, but he wasn’t. It was awkward. It was not hard for me that he was gone; it just wasn’t fun, little disappointing I guess. Probably he had fallen down on the floor, behind the table, but I didn’t bother to look. Because I know that I wouldn’t pick him up, that would just be disgusting. And what would they others say if I would pick him up and put him back at his spot in the window? I will rather think that he had disappeared, just gone.

The worst thing was, I couldn’t get this of my mind, the many times that I had built up a story of his life in my head. I often wonder what he had done, where he have been and how and why he get to the window, how he died there.  Because it looked like he was going somewhere right before he died. It quite sounds like he is my friend, but he’s not. You can’t say he was a living creature, not even a thing. But now, as you may have noticed, he became my inspiration to dream away. I haven’t written in a while, he helped me with that today. I’m thankful for that, it was nice of him.

The fellow next to him I didn’t care about at all. I have tried to build up a story for him to, but I always end up thinking of something else. I’m thinking of throwing the ugly little friend away. He’s just lying there on his back, just looking gray and old. He will just bother me. It will be awfully empty in the corner. Just dusty, no flies left.

It isn’t the first time I write about flies. I really consider them as disgusting animals, as I do for every other insect. They’re flying around your head, just being annoying. But still, in some weird way, I enjoy thinking about their lives, when they’re not around (or dead). I don’t want to know if they maybe just life for a few hours, that will ruin the beauty of my thoughts.

The dead fly, a meaningless thing, my inspiration.