Almost two years ago, I saw a fly crawling about on the carpet of our office.
The fly was dying.
It seemed discontent with each spot on the carpet. It would stop for a few moments, then continued crawling for a new spot.
It was looking for its final resting place.
Eventually, the fly found what it was looking for. It wanted to die at the base of the floor lamp. The problem was that the base of the floor lamp was half an inch thick. This meant the base was half an inch off the ground, and higher than the fly itself.
The fly used what remained of its strength to lift itself onto the base of the floor lamp. I don’t know how the fly’s thin, hairy legs held onto the smooth, slippery, silvery base of the metal, but the thin hairy legs held on. The fly crawled a few more steps, then stopped.
The fly seemed to rest to catch its breath.
I left the office for a few moments to get a camera to capture the moment. When I returned, the fly was on its back.
The fly had died.
This invertebrate knew how it wanted to go, even when it meant the fly had to use the last traces of its life force to arrive at the exact spot where it wished to depart from the world.
I bet the fly lived exactly as it had died – uncompromising.
Originally published: Aug 6, 2007 @ 9:10
