The Fly

I’ve been here watching, waiting. He, it, wants out. The window’s open just a few inches beyond its vision. That’s where he entered. He just doesn’t see. He follows the same pattern: left to right, across the top…drops down an inch or so…up a few more, across, until it reaches the far side, then skims along the top again. I’m tired, tired of watching, feel sick watching, feel stuck here, yet I’m unable to leave. I wonder when it’ll get the impetus to go beyond so I can get on with something more productive, yet knowing I won’t.

 

 

 

C. Angelo Caci resides in Santa Barbara, California. He has been writing fiction for several decades and has been published in many venues. Previously published works can be viewed at his website: sites.google.com/site/chrisangelocaci/home. Facebook: facebook.com/christopher.caci.