The Fly

Why Did I Write This

The debate was in full swing and everyone was hanging on to every word spoken by the Vice President. Everyone wanted to know what he had to say. Was it good? Was it bad? What did he stand for? What did he believe in? Those watching either loved him or hated him, there did not seem to be any in-between. However... there was one being in the crowd that was a bit more into Pence than anyone else - be they in the room or watching on their television screens. And that was The Fly. You see, The Fly had been following the Vice President for hours, wanting and wishing to get closer but unable to work up the nerve to land on the man. What if he was just brushed away? What if he was killed, smashed beneath the very hand that he wished would simply caress his small, winged body? The Fly was nearly at the end of his life. He only had a few days at best. And Pence made him wish that he could live forever. He saw great potential in the Vice President. He saw great everything. His beautiful white hair, his dark eyes, everything about him was wonderful. He hoped that Trump was treating him well. Trump was a little too orange for The Fly. He much preferred the stark white hair and pale skin of Pence.

It was hard to work up the courage to approach Pence. The Fly flew around the room a number of times, wishing that he could just work up the nerve to go over to him already. The Fly ended up landing on one of the walls, multiple eyes watching the Vice President with such intensity. He needed to do this. He would regret it for the rest of his days, perhaps even in death as well, if he flew away and didn't at least land on that glorious head of hair. So, giving himself a bit of an internal pep talk, The Fly departed from the wall and buzzed over to the white-haired man.

The Fly circled the Vice President a few times, buzzing closer and closer to the man. The Fly could feel his heart stutter every time he got close. It was such an intense feeling, being this close to such a powerful man. Circling a few more times, The Fly finally got the courage to descend upon Mike Pence's head - more specifically, upon his hair. 

Immediately, he felt like his life was complete. He felt like the part of him that had been missing all of his life was now there. Pence was what had been missing from his life. The Fly had been expecting the man to immediately reach up and shoo him away but instead... He allowed The Fly to settle there. What did this mean? Was this the Vice President accepting The Fly's advances? Could this potentially lead to something... more? The Fly wasn't even focused on anything that was being said, did not even care that he was on camera. He took one of his appendages and stroked through the white strands of hair upon the Vice President's head, letting out a quiet buzzing sigh as his wings fluttered. This was more than he could have ever hoped for. More than he could have ever wished for. He felt whole now. The Fly could die happy knowing he had successfully perched upon Mike Pence's head. 

Time passed and still, the Vice President did not try to shoo him away. It was a miracle. The Fly took in Pence's scent, his taste, the way he felt beneath his feet. Again he reached out to caress the soft strands of hair he was standing on. This was the best day of his whole entire life, a life that was going to end in a matter of days. But perhaps he would meet Pence in another life, where they were both flies and could happily buzz around together. But alas, today was not that day. 

The Fly stayed in Pence's hair for as long as he could. Long enough that it became weird to those watching. Very weird. Why wasn't Pence brushing The Fly off? Did he not feel it? Did he not care? Was he actually just a reanimated corpse that attracted things such as flies? The sight of the fly left the general public with more questions than answers, but to The Fly, it left him feeling loved and satisfied. He wanted nothing more than to stay nested in Pence's white hair for the rest of his days, however short that time may be, but he knew that he must leave. Pence was a busy man who had so much to do. So with one final caress of the Vice President's hair, The Fly buzzed off toward a crack in the wall. Before squeezing his way out of the room, he gave one final glance back at the man on the stage. 

Farewell, my love, The Fly thought to himself, looking longingly at the man before he turned and climbed through the crack in the wall. Until we meet again.