Lords of the Fly

Sam cupped his hands, careful not to let any cracks form between his fingers. He yelped and raised his arms above his head, shaking them jubilantly in self-congratulation, like he had won a trophy at a football match.

“Jiiiiiiiiiiiim, I got one. I got it in my hands now. It’s a big one. What shall we do with it?”

Jim ran over, his eyes wide and his mouth serious with concentration, despite the blueberry jam smudged around it. He held out the empty Heinz baked bean tin he had grabbed from the recycling bin.

“Put it in here Sam. Let’s trap it. “

 “Good idea. I can feel him buzzing around, can you hear it? He’s getting angry.”

Sam held his cupped hands up to Jim’s ear and they both stood, almost chest to chest, an ear each pressed against Sam’s grubby hands.

Both boys laughed, revealing neat, peg-like milk teeth. Their faces contorted like play dough. Jim tipped his head back and shrieked wildly, stamping his feet and holding his belly.

Jim beckoned with the baked bean tin, his laughter subsiding. “Come on let’s put him in the tin. He might bite you.”

“Flies can’t bite stupid, they are harmless.”

Jim bent down and held the tin steady with both hands. Sam knelt slowly, holding his cupped hands out in front of him until they were positioned over the tin. Both boys were silent and only the frantic buzzing of the fly could be heard.

“Wait, I’ll go and get something to cover the tin with so he doesn’t get out.”Jim ran off towards the house.

Sam could feel the fly rushing to and fro inside the cave of his hands. It felt funny when it crashed into the wall of his palms. The creature was so small that when it flew full force at the wall, it merely tapped gently, its wings vibrating lightly and tickling his skin. 

Jim returned with a hardback ‘Spot the Dog’ book. It had a round green sticker on the spine.

“Ready?” Sam asked, pushing his small hands carefully into the opening of the tin. He opened them, pulled them away and Jim slammed ‘Spot Follows His Nose’ over the mouth of the tin.

The boys stared at each other and listened. There was no sound other than the leaves on the silver birch tree rustling overhead.   The boys sat around the tin for some time, Jim’s hands clamped firmly on the book, his knuckles turning white with the pressure.They waited for a clue from the fly, but they heard nothing. He must be sitting very still waiting for a clue from them.

 “What shall we do now?” Jim whispered.

“We could leave him in there and check on him every hour to see how long it takes him to die?”

“What if he never dies?” Jim interjected.

“He will starve though,” Sam answered .

“Flies don’t need food, and at school there is a poster saying they can be sick and then eat it again so he can do that forever.”

Sam scratched his chin. “Ok, we could pull off his wings or legs, or both, and see what happens?”

Jim’s stained mouth gaped into a smile. “Yeah good idea! What will a fly do without wings?! Haha, he will be like a big fat ant crawling in the grass!”

“Ha, and none of the other ants will like him because he is so fat and ugly.”

“Yeah, they might eat him! It will be like a big feast, like when my Mum and Dad cooked that pig on the stick last summer and everyone ate it.”

The boys grew into a flurry of excitement as they brainstormed around the tin. In twenty years time they would still be brainstorming together. They would be in a boardroom, wearing trim grey suits, exchanging ideas on how to cut the costs of ‘Grub’s Up’. The business supplied vending machines to offices and schools, sometimes even homes. The vending machines supplied hot meals via a nifty inner microwave system that heated pre-cooked food before dispensing it. The enthusiasm of their youth had waned. They would not stop to notice the fly buzzing around their heads, except as a mild irritant. Sam took a break during the meeting to open the window and set it free.