Transported into the giant man’s house as a tiny, unnoticed interloper, Brad remained carefully motionless, unwilling to attract his huge neighbor’s attention until he had a plan in place.
As Russ moved about his kitchen, Brad watched from his spot on a massive green squash. At one point, without even realizing it, the transformed man extended his proboscis for a quick taste of the zucchini’s thick green peel. The bland results did nothing to excite the housefly’s instincts.
In the meantime, Russ, taking a large blade in hand, proceeded to chop cilantro and onions, letting pungent aromas form a cloud of heavy scents that eventually got Brad’s notice.
After what seemed a long time to Brad, Russ finally finished chopping and shifted his mode into mixing ingredients into a huge yellow, blue and green ceramic bowl.
All the time, the unnoticed insect scrutinized Russ’s actions, hopeful for some respite from a chain of ill luck. Finally, a moment came when Russ, satisfied with the batch of salsa now marinating in the bowl, decided to take a shower. He left the kitchen, without announcing his intent, leaving the tiny fly excited and curious.
The transformed scientist left the basket of produce, flew into the air and hovered over the bowl. Inside the ceramic receptacle, a sea of red met the tiny bug’s gaze.
“Salsa!” Brad realized. Russ had been making his famous homemade salsa!
He flew into the depths of the massive bowl. The ceramic sides of the bowl rose around him like the walls of some ancient arena. The smells of chopped onions and crushed cilantro were particularly powerful.
“Please, please, please,” he thought to himself. “Don’t hurry back.”
A plan was taking shape, but for his plan to work, he needed time.
Time to write out a message using the red salsa as his ink.
He swooped over the sea of salsa and landed delicately, six thin legs sinking into the swamp of crushed tomatoes, onions, hot peppers and cilantro. He made sure to let the red substance soak into the hairs covering his insect abdomen.
Once he had soaked up the salsa, he flew out of the bowl and landed on a gleaming white plate, which he had chosen as the surface for “writing” his message.
Trip after trip. From bowl to plate and back again, gradually beginning to form the first words of his planned plea.
“H-E-L-P…”
The salsa tended to run and smear, but the letters managed to hold together.
“It’s a start, but he needed more.
Once again, he flew back into the bowl.
The constant flights back and forth began to sap his energy, but he couldn’t stop. He had to finish his message.
He managed to add “ITS ME BRAD.”
He didn’t worry about the missing apostrophe between the T and the S. A grammar mistake wasn’t going to kill him.
The words looked good, if a bit blurry. Perhaps that was just his strange insect eyes.
He worried. Should he add something to make the message more clear?
“NOT A BUG!” Brad considered.
Although he was feeling exhausted, he rose into the air again, determined to add a few more words that could make all the difference. Several minutes later, thoroughly spent, the tiny fly landed in the shadow of the large ceramic bowl and eyed its handiwork.
HELP. ITS ME BRAD. NOT A BUG.
Now, all he needed was Russ to come and read the message.
He waited.
Russ didn’t return, and the letters formed from smears of salsa began to grow less cohesive.
Brad’s lack of patience drove him to take flight. He zipped out of the kitchen, along a wide corridor, and searched for Russ. Despite feeling weary, he pressed on. He needed to do something to get his giant neighbor to view the message.