Today was the day.
Brad had determined to make his way home and, just after breakfast, which consisted of a mound of dog droppings that he had discovered the previous evening, he buzzed his wings, hovered over the remainder of his revolting meal, and lifted off.
“That’s the last time I have to do that,” he told himself. He had a full tank of energy and, ready to conquer the world, he flew beyond the park borders and, once he found and confirmed the 18th Street sign, turned onto that street. His plan was to fly to Lombardy Street, which was roughly halfway home.
Three relatively uneventful hours later, if one did not county dodging traffic, which consisted of everything from cars and trucks to hunks on bikes, he found himself hungry and near exhausted. He finally located a Lombardy Street sign. He buzzed in front of the sign, feeling weariness slowly overcoming him. He knew that feeling, and how it would only intensify. He needed food, quickly, if he had any hope of continuing his journey home to Mark.
Tantalisingly, a scent tickled his housefly senses. Tracing the aroma to its source took the tiny fly into a lush backyard hosting seven 20-something guys for a weekend barbecue.
A lot of hot male guys, massively on display for the tiny fly, for once failed to deter Brad from his plan of action. He noticed, but kept buzzing a litany to himself... focus, focus, focus!
It worked, and the fly zeroed in on a plate of raw steaks, landing in the center of one of the huge cuts of red meat. He had barely sank his proboscis into a puddle of juice when a shirtless man noticed him and shooed him into the air with the swipe of a huge hand. Brad, not to be discouraged, hovered and buzzed, hoped to return to the steaks. He kept a careful watch as the man picked up a plastic spray bottle.
“I can’t get distracted,” Brad reminded himself as he tried not to let the sight of a massive amount of bare flesh and muscle divert him from his goal.
A shirtless man in a pair of green shorts emblazoned with vibrant red flowers, spritzed a wafting of peppermint and eucalyptus oil in Brad’s direction. As soon as the cloud drew close, his fly form experienced an intense revulsion to the scent to a degree that made it difficult to not flee the vicinity.
"Focus," he buzzed again, motivating himself to overcome the aversion the scent of the oils had triggered in his insect senses.
“Don’t waste your time with that New Age shit,” the man’s buddy told him. “Flies only respect brute force. That’s why I have this.”
He reached down and produced an electronic fly zapper, a yellow racket-shaped device with a long plastic handle and a mesh grid strung in its plastic frame. Black lightning bolts decorated the handle of the device.
“Now this,” the young man grinned at his friend, swinging the racket to and fro in the air. “This deals with the little pests, permanently.”
Staying focused, Brad didn't try to pick up the gist of the conversation between the giants. Instead, Brad had circled back to the pyramid of raw steaks, desperate to fuel up and get back on course for his journey home. He pumped his proboscis desperately, sucking up nutrient rich meat juices in a mad rush to refuel and resume his flight home.
But the man with the zapper had other plans as the tracked the movement of a buzzing, filthy pest.
“I’ll demonstrate,” he said, targeting the lone fly that lingered on the steaks destined to be tossed on the grill. He slowly and methodically lowered the racket toward the insect.
Brad continued to suck up nutrients through his proboscis, not giving up until the last possible second but, at that point, it was easy for the man to depress the trigger activating the electric current in the device as he swung the racket-shaped device in the buzzing bug’s direction.
Brad panicked as he heard the crackle of energy and felt the fine hairs on his fly form stand at attention due to the nearby source of electricity. "No," he buzzed. "Leave me alone."
He might have evaded the man, even yet, as he had managed to replenish his energy reserves, if the man’s friend hadn’t spritzed him with another fog of those repellent oils, blinding him, confusing his insect brain and senses.
"No!" Brad buzzed as he saw the mesh grid rushing toward him. "I'm not a bug!"
His focus had been interrupted long enough for the muscular young man to swipe him into the grid of the racket. There was a crackling sizzle as Brad’s fly form completed a circuit. The fly’s head detached, explosively, with a loud pop as the fly’s tiny, headless form smoked and crackled.
“Now, that’s what I am talking about,” the guy holding the zapper said with a gloating smirk. “Smoked that sucker.”
“Disgusting,” said the man holding the spritzer bottle of essential oils as he saw the fly's body produce a few more pops as the current kept flowing.
“But effective," declared the man with the racket.
Both men laughed and joined their other friends at the party.