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SUCH LATITUDE
An ancient fly, who had already lived for centuries centuries ago, had come
to alight on a ship, a ship of rats. And the rats bored the fly.
And the fly held up a piece of straw for silence. Can satisfaction
ensnare you? he asked. The rats looked up, and their eyes were voyde of wordes.
Something fine and delicious, an egg perhaps, can make you hungry? All of the rats
knew eggs were fine and delicious. Their eyes shone like raisins. Then he told them
the thing about the two well-laden ships docked side by side—
when only one has rats, which should a lonely rat choose? Fear came and Discussion—
uh rat win uh rat spread might be defeats, squeamy. Every supply will dwindle—
and again the fly held up his straw. Come and see this
he said and opened a hatch with the straw and up they went onto deck and they
saw the impossible quay and a thousand ships waiting like fat brown eggs.
YES AND NO
Houses made of rain he thinks of spider webs. And what did he do? He
shaved his legs, abdomen, and thorax. It was a real change. He looked
like a young girl and nearly lost his balance making that
observation in the mirror. It would pay to get into character
he told himself. Straighten up and shut your dirty mouth, he told
himself. Then he went outside and slipped past the spider webs
into the woods. He drew the air in deep. Eventually he came across
a group of girls sorting peas. Ladies. They could immediately
tell that he was male-ish. Fly-ish he could never hide.
Have a seat. They were sorting the peas into piles for yes and no. At first
hellfly blundered, putting no in yes and vice versa. Then he got
the hang of it. Then he blundered on purpose. No cheating
said the one whose little fingers sorted fastest. Shut your dirty mouth
he told her. All the sorting stopped. A flash occurred and a rumble.
The girls took on the hue of blue and as they stood the shadow
of a fat beast. A reacquisition of hellfly is in order. That’s just how we
feel they said silently to this, the puh!-scikotik fly. His bristles were already protruding.
A good psychotic never hesitates. Wishing them
the very best of luck hellfly flew back to his hotel.
TEMPLE DEW
The thin leash went slack. A branch’s glint caught hellfly’s northern eye. Like a berry
or a bead of rain it hung in a hush, this tiny ball of blood. The person
on hellfly’s leash curled up on the ground and went to sleep. Hellfly
removed the awkward trousers and shirt of his captive in response to the bead, its demand,
direct expression. Closer it might have said as it became immense. A door
opened in its side. So many others fail to know
themselves. Crude wet raccoons slunk away from their
back-stage trash. It would be better to be the first to disappear. The branch began
to creak with its growing weight.
Later hellfly reemerged
with a gorged look and a steel bridle and woke the man who had been
sleeping, and the man found he was mute, and he continued to gnaw at soft mouthfuls of air.
A FUCKING CAN
A species of fat green ugly lizards caught hellfly unawares coming
through their place around a rock, a great rock from which echoed lip-
smacking and hooey he thought. They were gathered around an empty
coffee can. Guess our riddle! What is at the bottom? Hellfly stood
in silence. One of them threw a firework stub into the can. Then
he took out a flower. Hellfly still said nothing. Another pissed
in the can and then took out a birthday candle. A third threw in a cat’s whisker
and then took out an old piece of potato. They passed it around taking
bitefuls. It tastes good said some. An old feeble lizard said
it tastes better than yesterday’s. Hellfly shuddered in disgust and made a move
to leave. A lizard seized one tip of his right wing and gurgled plaintively,
please stay and guess. Several others nodded with flicking tongues.
Their eyes glinted with affection and they were breathing with trust on hellfly. Especially today,
one added, because we’re all here, calm and clear-headed. But
it’s better to do it without looking. The rage of hellfly drew
taut, winding at his sex and his mouth, until, as loud as a blackcat, with a force
that dropped the lizards flat to belly, he cried, A FUCKING CAN?! and knocked
it over, spilling its gewgaws and ashes, and he flew hard against the blue distance.
THE PITTER-PATTER STRIKE
Having killed a rat, hellfly began to eat, muffling its coloratura
of sustenance in the hollow squeeze at his heart, and began to feel a little
ascension—his thin legs disported themselves and tipped him into
a float. The rat beckoned finish me off. But hellfly just wiped his mouth. A wall
of silent rats began to form, encircling departed and fly, making
the field smaller. In their one shared thought they recited a prayer
for courage. Hellfly offered a cigarette to their leader—you are magnificent.
You are just. No rat can do everything alone. As the match flared, as tears
fell from some of their eyes, a sideward sweep of hellfly’s leg
slaughtered them. And why not, he thought, flying away. Rats are nasty.
THE HELLFLY CHRONICLES
Charles Wuest
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