by Catt Foy
First published in Images Magazine, 1981
I stirred on my pallet, rustling the straw that covered it, and awakened to find my food tray had been shoved through the hatch in the heavy wooden door. My gaze shifted from the tray to the room, as I observed my surroundings. Cold, grey walls rose from a similar floor to a small opening high above my head. This open-ing was covered by a thick pane of filthy glass, allowing a small amount of natural light to illuminate my cubicle. Poor though it was, the light was a great comfort to me. To be shut away from the world, alone, was disturbing enough; at least I was not sentenced to total darkness.
I removed myself from my pallet, stirring the heavy layer of dust which cov-ered my living quarters. The particles danced and played in the small patch of light
I picked up the hard black bread from the tray and attempted to tear a piece off of it. A bowl filled with some sort of gravy served to moisten the bread enough to allow me to chew at least a small portion of it.
My dulled senses must have prevented me from noticing the change immed-iately. I'm not certain how long it actually was before I noticed it. It could have been a few minutes or a few days
Having eaten a few bites of bread, I sat absent-mindedly on the cold floor and scratched pictures and runes in the dust. I batted at the unnoticed intruder. The act of waving my arm, I can assure you, was a purely habitual reaction to a com-mon pest. It wasn't until the ugly, beautiful creature planted himself upon my nose and gazed at me with his many faceted eyes that I acknowledged his presence. I drew back, startled, literally jumping backwards away from him, adrenaline terror-izing my stomach.
As I realized what it was that had frightened me so, I began to regain my composure. Only then did my interest awaken and I approached this invader as he sat upon my half-eaten bread.
I studied him from a distance at first, fearing to come too close, fearing that this may be a product of my overwrought imagination. I felt that if I blinked, or made any sudden movement, he would vanish before my very eyes and I would be left with the shattering knowledge that I had lost my mind.
Tenatively, I began to move toward him. And, vanish he did, only to reappear a few seconds later in the spot of light on the floor. I realized that my eyes, accustomed to dim light devoid of any sudden movement, had deceived me into believing for a brief moment that he had vanished. But he had only flown in a natural manner from his perch on my meal to the spot he presently occupied.
I sat, suddenly tired, upon the wooden pallet and rubbed my eyes, secure now in the fact that it was not all a vision. I shook my head, trying to clear the mental cobwebs that had accumulated in my many months of isolation.
I leaned forward and stared at my visitor, his little front legs busily washing his face with agitated movements. A fly, I thought to myself, a common, ordinary fly.
This was a very profound observation on my part, considering that I had not experienced a truly lucid thought in many weeks.
Suddenly, the rusty gears of my thought processes began to grind anew. Had I been confronted with such a creature at any other point I my life, I would not have hesitated to raise my hand in order to snuff the life from this accursed beast. Now, the possibility of robbing this delightful creature of his life was horrifying to me and I immediately prayed for forgiveness for the many lives I had taken in the past. This creature was my only companion, the only other living thing I had come into contact with in a long time. I had long ago depleted any ambitions that I may have had. The marks that I had scratched upon the stone ended at two hundred and forty seven days. That was long ago. Now, at least, my remaining days would not be spent alone.
I was prepared to accept this thought as a comfort, when another, terrifying thought occurred to me. If this fly could so easily find his way into my prison, then he may just as easily find his way out. Panic replaced my relief. I was beseiged with the notion that this creature could not, must not leave me. I had to find a way to contain him, to assure that he would not desert me. I was his friend, after all; had I not spared his life? No, I would not lose him now.
I withdrew the knife from under my pallet and examined the blade. It was very sharp except for one spot, at the very tip, where I had used it to notch in the hard granite.
I removed my breeches. They had once been fine velvet, now threadbare and worn. There were places where they had not worn completely through, but only to transparency. It was these spots that I now began to cut loose from the rest of the fabric.
I carved slivers of wood from my pallet, using dampened straw to tie them together. Slowly, I began to form a cube. When it was done, I placed the cloth over it, and spearing it with the sharp ends, I fastened it securely to the little cage.
My fingers were stiff and clumsy, and this small project took many hours. My companion happily pestered me throughout the project, and as the light began to fade, I completed it.
Maneuvering carefully, I managed to coax my friend into his new home by placing a bit of bread soaked in gravy inside. After a few minutes, he settled into the little box and I closed him inside.
I sat back on my pallet and watched his fruitless efforts to escape from his prison. It is a prison, too, I thought, I had done worse than kill him. I had put him in isolation.
Suddenly, my guilt was overwhelming, but months of loneliness prevented me from releasing him. I could not let him go
I sat through the night listening to his occasional buzzing and wishing that we could communicate. At one point, I lay back on the pallet and feeling the knife with my hands, I contemplated it in the darkness.
I had been sentenced to remain here until my death. I had also been provided this weapon in the event that I chose not to die by natural causes. But, coward that I am, I had never gotten the courage or the resolve to take my own life. Even in my most desperate moments, I shirked from the responsibility of being my own executioner.
Now, as the light again began to return, I listened to my little friend buzzing in his cage. Now I truly felt the coward. In my misery, I had brought this creature down with me. I had robbed him of his freedom and in my selfishness had refused to restore that freedom to him.
When the food tray arrived, I could not eat. Nausea and dizziness over-whelmed me. Perhaps in my guilt, I would starve to death. Lying on my pallet, I began to drift into sleep, chills consuming my body.
Suddenly, I opened my eyes and looked over to my friend. I had quite suddenly remembered why, in the past, I had been so quick to kill flies. My last conscious thought was that flies carry disease.
* * * * * * *
When the fever cleared long enough for me to move, I knew that blessedly, death was upon me. I reached for the box I had made. The tiny insect, this most common of pestilences, had brought me the freedom I so desired. In turn, I tore the fragile fabric from its splinter frame and the fly arose from his prison. He began to feast on the gravy in my bowl. A short while later, when the tray was removed, he went with it -- leaving me, in my last hours, once again alone.
Copyright 1997-2005 Catt Foy
