The Fly Earthling
Bio
"In a world where reincarnation is real, Y.O.L.O. has no contextual relevance." - The Fly Earthling
Stories (15/0)
Paint Me, Dreamer
If walls could talk, I would fill your ears with feelings that come in tremors. Vibrations. I keep them like heirlooms in a time capsule. ¾ time. 6/8 time. Four-on-the-floor. Flowing as it rolls around me. Entrancing. The beautiful noise simmers. Then rises to crescendo – harmony in waves. The curious fly sits and listens. A nosey little thing. Nature’s spy. Interesting tidbit – flies are actually great conversationalists believe it or not. Chatty Cathy’s. Sounds like buzzing to the human ear – that may or may not be by design. They get around too much to be trusted – as I see it – or live very long. But the noisy little spy knows well the tale I tell – of the sonic soul of the pianist.
By The Fly Earthlingabout a year ago in Fiction
The Rapture
“Okay. So … Let’s start from the beginning,” A forty-something shrink, Dr. Gee, in a blue turtle-neck sweater and plaid skirt says, adjusting her round lens eyeglasses. Her brown hair corralled tightly in a baseball-size bun. “Robert and,” She checks her notes, “An-dro-meda Winters. Hm, such a pretty name.” A compliment the doctor serves out of obligation for butchering Andromeda’s name. “Who would like to go first?”
By The Fly Earthlingabout a year ago in Fiction
Affinity
“Mission to ground control – do you read me?” Silence. “Atticus to base – do you read me?” Atticus is coming in hot. “Shuttle missed re-entry. Gonna try to put her down a few miles off the coast. “Static.” Atticus slams the console. His transmission goes wry with no intercept. His pod looks like a ball of fire streaking across the blue and white sky. The turbulence is mounting. And so is the temperature. His instruments have a mind of their own. He looks down at a piece of paper with scribbled equations, scrunches it, and tosses it behind him. Atticus’ pod chars in an ozone air fryer.
By The Fly Earthlingabout a year ago in Fiction
Let There Be Light
Dear Diary, it’s day 5. I say it out loud but it’s still hard to believe. I’ve been on this island trapped in a dream for five days straight. I’m not sure if that’s dream days or Earth days. It took a day or three, but I remember. Perhaps my entire consciousness hadn’t fully downloaded into my brain. But I remember now. I remember my real life. I have a wife – a daughter. I can still see them in brief flashes. The patter of my daughter’s footsteps as she stumbles down the stairs. The beckoning aroma of my wife’s morning coffee. My last waking memory is my daughter’s birthday. We went out for ice cream and…she was so happy. I remember falling asleep that night. I had been working late on a file and I was running on fumes. Too many sleepless nights. The calendar on my dream phone says today is September 22nd and her birthday was the 17th. Given that, I tried to surf the web but apparently, there’s no actual Wi-Fi in the dream world. That’s a real missed opportunity by the modern telecom industry.
By The Fly Earthlingabout a year ago in Fiction
