I open the window to let it out, but it doesn't go out. Instead it follows the window pane as I pop it open. This is a game. The fly wants me to believe it wants out but it doesn't. No the fly loves smashing its head over and over into the shiny window - freedom just a lick away. It wants to stay with me. It wants my company and knows the sound has some soothing feeling. Providing me with such desired company blocking out this void. It just sticks to the window. Maybe it will find the magical hole, a magical passageway leading it to the other side...
I gently try to guide it to the opening. But it shies away. It. I've been observing and obsessing over this fly for over 15 minutes now. Tried to rescue it. Give it freedom. I've developed a relationship with this fly. I feel I can no longer call the fly "it".
Betsy. I decide the fly is female and her name is Betsy. Like a cow, only the fly that usually hangs out by it ("it" now refers to the unknown cow) in the sunshine hoping to pick up scraps of food off its hot leathery skin.
Betsy - hello there and welcome to my home.
Do you have a family Betsy? Where are you from? Have you been with us since our visit to the Coronados Islands? Is that why you want to stay with us? You want a ride home?
I always wonder if flies have families. As a kid when we left for a long road trip to visit our relatives I fantasized about this. While most kids fantasized about Disneyland or a racecar shaped bed, I fantasized about insects and their lives... They entered our car and hours later they flew back out. Lost. Needing to find their way back home to their waiting loved ones.
As I am now sitting here waiting for my loved one to come back home.
p.s. I've labeled this a Magpie, only it isn't. A Magpie that is. I miss the writing prompts where I dive into fiction just for the love of writing. But this piece isn't really fiction. Or is it?