It Was a Damned Fly Apocolypse

Finally, a little breathing room in this body of mine. For the first time in nearly a month I feel like half a human being (the other half’s a unicorn, but that’s a story for another time).

I just want to say thanks to everyone who gave me uplifting comments and kind words. It was very super appreciated.

So, I was reading the most recent post from ohnoa


And it reminded me of just how ridiculously awful renting can be. As a new homeowner, I have to say that it comes with it’s own fatalities, but at least when a dead animal dies under your home, you don’t need ten people’s approval to remove it.

From 18-20 years old I hopped around from apartment to apartment, running into interesting issues with each one. None compared to the Lord of the Flies encounter of the third.

It was a tiny, yet comfy (if you like being shoved up your significant other’s ass) 500 square foot apartment, complete with hardwood floors, new kitchen appliances, and a fly invasion of approximately 2000.

Let me explain.

It was a lovely crisp fall weekend. the sounds of children playing were drifting through the air, accompanied by fall leaves in the brightest of oranges, reds, and yellows. It was a time of rest, and expectation.

But none of this was to be enjoyed by the story’s harried protagonist, for in the past week her nostrils had been accosted by the  faint yet ever-growing deadthing smell in her apartment. She had  checked under the couches, and inside the closets to be sure none of her dear cats had spontaneously perished. She had checked high, and she had checked low for the source of the smell. Inside shoes, and beneath rugs. Around table legs, and atop of the fridge. Finding nothing, she simple lit scented candles.

As the days passed the smell grew faint, but alas our protagonist was not meant to rest. For as the smell did drift away, a loud buzzing did penetrate her humble abode.  It was loud enough to prevail against the blasting gun sounds of Resident Evil 5 (which she so enjoyed), and persistent enough to make her want to pull out her dear ear drums with a corkscrew she once purchased in an attempt to make herself enjoy wine. The wine tasted like lettuce, and thus the corkscrew remained useless and dusty in her junk drawer.

Incensed by this annoying sound, our brave hero armed herself with a broom and stalked about her kitchen.  The buzzing seemed to be coming from the large picture window, which she always kept the blinds down on due to it facing directly into the large picture window of her neighbor. Her neighbor was large and furry, and once did that odd eyebrow wiggle thing at her, making her most uncomfortable. 

As she approached, cautious yet intent, the buzzing grew louder. Reaching one trembling hand out to grasp the pullstring, our dashing protagonist wondered if perhaps she was losing her mind. With one swift pull the blind was raised, and she was faced with the most dreadful of horrors.

Before her stood a wall of flies, convulsing and buzzing across the surface of the window, like a solid living thing. Before she could realize her error in raising the blind, a wave of flies melted off the wall and took flight about her small (no longer comfy) apartment.

To be honest, it was like something from a cheesey SciFi movie.

They buzzed through the air in swooping motions, terrifying the cats, who had once bravely battled one, two, or even three flies in their day, but were no match for a hord of this magnitude. They hid beneath the couch as our dear protagonist swung her broom wildly through the air, screaming in horror, knocking the chandelier nearly off the ceiling.

Confused and in shock, our embattled protagonist ducked beneath the looming hord and searched through her cabinets for something of use…a weapon of mass fly destruction. To her luck, she had a can of bug spray, and though it was meant to kill wasps (normally a much more terrifying enemy) she prayed it would do the trick.

Armed with a can of bug spray in one hand, a broom in the other, she sprayed and swatted, sprayed and smooshed, sprayed and screamed in abstract horror, at the flies now invading her boxes of cerial and left-over fetuccini.

Her dear cats, emboldened by her refusal to give up and become the fly’s food, came to her aid, pouncing and chewing on any fly who so dare land for more than two seconds.

It was a night of much bravery for everyone, except perhaps the guy who lived with our protagonist, and mostly just stood back going “Oh My God, LOOK AT THEM ALL!”

And so ends my tail of the Fly Apocolypse. Except not really, because this happened almost every night until that damned deadthing decomposed enough that flies were no longer interested in laying their fly eggs in its corpse. It was disgusting, and to this day if I hear a buzzing sound that can’t easily be traced back to something electronic i must fight the urge to flail compulsively.

Everyone has an apartment horror story. Care to share yours?


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