Time Flies

Here’s an oldie – but a goody!

Time Flies

Fly rotated and tilted its bulbous head. It was looking at me.

I was too mangled to shoo or wave it away, in too much pain to really care.

“Do you want to die?” Fly asked.

“Fuck off,” I spat.

“You might linger for hours . . . suffer unbearably,” Fly suggested.

I grimaced. Fly was right, and I was sure that if he had a mouth, he would have been grinning.

“Fuck off,” I spat again in desperation. “Bastard!” I screamed.

“I can help,” Fly proffered. “Tell me you want it to end, and I can make it happen.”

Tears welled. I started to cry, “Go away, leave me be.” I knew I was done, that my time was close, but I wasn’t ready to give it away yet. I just wasn’t prepared.

“What would you give for more time?” Fly asked, as if he could read my mind. “What would you give?”

Fly crawled over to the yawning, bleeding wound on my lower arm. I tried moving my arm away; tried to shake Fly off. Neither my arm nor Fly moved. My other arm was trapped under the steering column of the van. I smelt iron and gasoline; the iron from my blood, the gas from the perforated petrol tank in the back of the van. Completely uncontrolled, I urinated. I prayed.

Fly looked up at me again.

“I take time,” Fly said. “So, I can take time now and end it for you, so you won’t have to be burnt, go up in flames or bleed out. There’s nothing worse than dying alone, scared and in shock. What about it, Big Fella?”

I closed my eyes, crusty blood crackling in the corners. My mouth gaped and quivered. “I don’t want to die,” I sobbed silently.

“You make me laugh,” Fly scorned.

“You want more time, don’t you? They always do! But you have no idea, do you? You just don’t know who I am,” Fly chided derisively.

“You see, I have oodles of time. I have acres of time; I have whole bushels of the shit! And it’s all time I’ve stolen from you. You want it back? Well, sorry, son, you can’t have it!

“I’ve lived a bloody good life, picking up and squirrelling away all the time you didn’t want. The time you threw away, the time you squandered, wasted, and didn’t care about. Think about it, Charley Horse, what would you give to get that time back now, eh? I haven’t counted the time, but it must be months’, even years’ worth!

“All the times you wished time would pass quicker, all the times you wanted the weekend or holidays to arrive early. All the times you sat down at your computer, watched porn, and masturbated. All the times you lay in bed too hungover to get up. All the times, ha, ha, ha, yes, all the times!

“You starting to get it now?” Fly smirked. “You see, I was there; I saw it all. I was that pesky Fly who always hung around. The dumb one who didn’t know it was winter, the persistent Fly who didn’t die despite the cubic litres of noxious gases you sprayed into the air. You used to say, ‘there is always one,’ and you were right, there always was, and it was me!

“I picked up every small crumb of time, I sucked it all up, I hoovered and devoured every single morsel. And now you are crying you want it back—well fuck you, buster!”

Fly suddenly and unexpectedly flew off. A bright light filled my eyes; it seemed to penetrate every corner of my mind, illuminating the shaken hallways leading into my brain.

“This one’s got a head injury but is still breathing,” I heard someone say.

“Carpe diem,” I whispered, “carpe diem.”