Two Dancing Flies

It was surprisingly enough one of the most moving points in my life, yet in any other moment such a thing would have gone unnoticed. I remember it so well, mainly because of it’s sheer simplicity. I was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling where the light hung. Below it were two flies, dancing. I say this because they really were. There was no reason why for over an hour the two flies would just fly in circles beneath the light. I felt like they were doing it for me, I wanted to believe they were dancing for me, to try to prevent me from another attempt to leave my body. It really was beautiful, because any other day I would think that they were hideous creatures.

Watching them made me think about all the times I watched others like them rubbing their two front legs with saliva, reading to suck the salt and dead skin from some part of my body. I remembered how disgusting they would make me feel. They were always associated with dirt, with disease, with some road-kill rotting away at the side of some back-lane. It was in that moment that I was incapable of seeing them in the same light, as they circled around the room aimlessly, like they were just enjoying the splendour of flight, loving how they could travel limitlessly through this world, without rules, without attachments, without dissatisfaction. It is for this reason that humans are the most advanced organism in existence: survival of the fittest, or rather, survival of those most discontent.