Flys, Peaches, Potatoes, and Snails – Short Story

The mosquito was known For Being a jerk to anyone who disagreed with him or anyone he found out numbered. This was no surprise; after all he was a blood-sucker. About a 100 to 150 of his kind are born at a time; so not only is this mosquitoes’ kind unpleasant, but it’s also abundant and well known.

In particular, his name was Marshal. Marshal was into self-destruction. This Month, it was sleep deprivation. For so many, many days since he had been swimming around in the water, he’d forgotten what daytime was. He had forgotten about the marvels of a sunrise. These remarkable workings of Mother Nature, and then some, all motivated his path of destruction.
For about a week he’d be staying up a bit later every night. Monday, he stayed up till the sun rose about a quarter of the way to no shadow time. Tuesday, he stayed up even later. And by Friday, it was no shadow time when he passed out. Staying up meant that he was sleeping later in his nights, becoming a reverse vampire of sort.

Saturday was the day that Marshal realized what an amazing, completely different world it was in the day time. There was color, sound, and creatures unfathomable, but most importantly, out of all the beauty in this strange new world, there was “Fly”. Fly was spotted on a piece of shit by Marshal buzzing over head. Four days was a long time without talking to anyone for Marshal; so he figured he would make his way over to this pathetic creature after grabbing a bite to eat.

As Marshal pierced the ball-sack of a passing zebra, he was struck with deep thought. This daytime-insect, although new to Marshals image vocabulary, was a daytime-insect none the less, there for was apt to be stupid. After all, Mosquitoes, the real children of the night, are superior. This was common knowledge to Marshal, enough to inspire his first utterance of monologue: “How could I benefit from this eater of shits daft niche?”

He thought hard, and just as the Zebra tale swatted him away from its fragile delicacies he came-to with a Hitler-good idea.
Mosquitoes literally suck blood from the bodys of most larger animals, but what few know about is, is the games mosquitoes play where the spirit is sucked out of fellow insects; exclusive actions, only known by most parasitic bugs and some tape worm. This game in particular, called “20 questions”, was Marshals favorite.

The last time Marshal played this game he played it with a snail. It took about an hours worth of work, but eventually he got the snail to take its own life. Some mosquitoes are naturals; Marshal was no exception.

-It went like this: Marshal spotted the snail one night munching on a potato so he immediately hopped to it. Snails are push-over’s. They’re already pathetic enough creatures and most of them know this. Each member of the species is born clinically depressed or, even worse, bi-polar.
Marshal strolled up to the snail.

“What’s happenin'” He says.

“I’m eating a potato” loomed the depressing mono-tone voice of the snail.

Marshal had a puzzled look on his face and was giving off neutral vibes, but all of this was part of the game.

“A potato?” he says, “Does it taste good?”

“More/less” the snail said.

“More/less ?!” Marshal said in disappointment. “Then why are you eating it ?”

“Why shouldn’t I ?”

The snail was not quite irritated as much as he was confused. Deep down it knew it could eat tastier produce other then a potato; and Marshal knew just as well. Although this was a small, next to meaningless dilemma there was rational cause behind it.

Marshal continued, “Well, when you say “more/less” it seems that the potato has neither a twist of tang nor a swish of sweetness to it. Why don’t you eat something a little more lively? Like a peach, perhaps?”

“The Peach trees are all the way at the other end of the land body. It would take me, say, near two weeks to slide that far. What’s The point? After I had the peach I’d just have to walk back. All together that’s a month and a half journey for one feast of peach. Ha! No thank you.”

Marshal was thrilled by the response, for it was perfect. In Marshals span of playing this game he had learned to recognize key phrases and rhetorical questions which were dead give-aways (no pun intended) to victory. The snail spoke out the most frequently used KEY phrase in its monologue above. A question that can destroy the will and spirit of any living thing if reinforced correctly, “What’s the point?” is an opening sign of a hopeless attitude. This is how Marshal gains progress to defeat.

Marshal chose his words wisely,

“Fine, you can just stay here the rest of your life eating potatoes and other tasteless roots from below the surface. You’ll never meet anyone new and you’ll never impress anybody.”

“I’m not out to impress anybody!”

“Yeah, because you can’t. No one is impressed by what snails have to offer because snails offer nothing. And I’m wasting my breath even mentioning it to you. You already know this, just like your father knew this, and your mother knew -and theirs before them, just like every snail knows. Is this a large secret you’ve been keeping from yourself? Avoiding this truth your whole life, have you? Just from this subtle conversation, denying a secret such as this is the only reason I can find for an organism like yourself to prolong an existence.”

The snail was afraid to speak. Everything the mosquito said was true. Although the snail and its hopeless attitude knew it had lost, and its spirit was now even more irrelevant, for the first time in its life, it would offer up a challenge to behold because for the first time in its life it was naked and had nothing left to lose. If the mosquito were to shatter this final challenge it would be the end of the snail. To Marshal this might as well have been known as phase 3.

The snail said, “I’ll go out and I’ll feast on the peach. I’ll take the longest journey I can find and eat the puniest peach just as fast.”

It was more of a bluff then a proclamation of conquest. Marshal looked a quarter of the way to dumfounded, as if this wasn’t some game, as if he was actually playing part in a legit conversation. He’s what the fleas call a natural professional. And in his closing argument he rebounded with the perfect wrap-up response which would one day be heard round the woods.

Marshal: “I’m proud of ya. That sounds like a healthy idea. You can get your exercise, a first-hand lesson in geography, and your peach. -that would put some sweetness in your trip, wouldn’t it? However, you and I both know that the trip is still pointless, much like life. Life is pointless too, ya know.”

Marshal paused briefly before continuing.

“You know why yer here? Cause somebody put you hereâÂ?¦.to die. ..Right? I mean, everything dies. That’s a fact that everyone knows. You’re born, you live, you die, period. Between birth and death, what is your purpose?”

Snail, disturbed, stares blankly at the rhetorical dialogue babbling mosquito.

“What is we working for? For what greater good do we breathe? There is no greater good. This leads me to my one and only compliment to you. Although we’ve just met, I’m a smart bug, and I can tell a lot about bugs from the way they look and act, which is why I can tell you, as pathetic as you are, you’re a smart bug too. And it’s not just you, it’s all snails. You’re not like the other bugs.”

Marshal was feeling so good at this point, [so good, so clever, so immortal]. He smiled and snapped with another rhetorical inquiry.

“You know what the other bugs do? They make up reasons to live. Father figures drive foolish philosophies into their childrens fickle heads, like their fathers did to them, and back so on from a time when bugs were not civilized and foolish philosophies were not so foolish and far fetched. You snails reject these basic assumptions of civilization. Give yourself a pat on the back because you see the world for what it really isâÂ?¦[pointless]” marshal whispered, “âÂ?¦.and what it really has to offerâÂ?¦ [nothing.]” he said, just as lifeless.

Marshal began to display his “time to go” body language, stretching and what not, but not so much as to quit talking. As he flew away he shouted merrily.

“Have a good time in your journey for that peach. It’s going to be a dark trip, and, by the time you get there, I wouldn’t be surprised to find that all of your peaches have rotted to their moldy core . Oh, and I know how you’re not out to impress anyone so for the record, if you should find the strength to take your journey after our little unscheduled rendezvous, take comfort; I won’t be impressed.”

The snail cried for days, but it was abnormally strong for a snail. Amazingly, it had a few strands of life left, enough to take that dark journey. Like a tweaked out bounty hunter with a lust for tracking, Marshal flew above it when it inched, and camped with in walking distance when it slept, undetected.

The night had come that the snail had reached the peach tree. And as it was promised its journey was pointless. The tree
was bare, and on the ground, all of the peaches were rotted. And finally, as the snail walked to a darker part of the woods to take its own life, Marshals victorious laughter echoed in its head. Victorious laughter echoed in its head. [Echoed in its head] Its head echoed with victorious laughter. Victorious laughter echoing in its head was the last thing it ever heard, to which Marshal was well aware and proud. this was the

The fly was still chowing on the poopy when Marshal appeared. Its gaze was cold, emotionless. It conveyed a repulsive peculiar ugly innocence. Like always, Marshal kept the vibes neutral to positive.

“Lovely day isn’t it?” said Marshal, the master of breaking the ice. “It’s been so long since I seen one.”

“lovely enough.” The fly contently said.

“Are you around these parts often?” Marshal wondered.

“Often enough” said the fly

Marshal was getting aggravated. This strange new bug, he presumed, would be no snail obviously, but was unlike any other creature he had ever encountered socially. Marshal is a smart bug. He can tell much about a fellow bug just by the way they look and act. This is a mosquitoes gifted nature, yet this bug look and acted emotionless. The fly didn’t even have eye lids to blink with. Marshal was persistent though.

“Why do you eat other animals dung?” Marshal smirked.

The fly looked up with a look of need as if it were struggling or choking on a bit fecal matter. The emotionless face immediately mutated in to a haunting unknown expression which startled and confounded Marshal. Then the fly began to make confusing sounds not too much unlike gagging. Marshal became angry, but kept his cool.

“Are you going to be alright? Not going to die right here and now, are you?”

Near the climax of the flys odd behavior it gave two sniffles and then a sneezed spewing acid all over the mosquitos mid-section.

Marshal fell to his side, face down in the shit, screaming bloody painful murder like a baby lamb being hacked and slaughtered from the waste down. No words, just screams as the acid ate through. His legs were kicking, those that were able to anyway. And if he could bleed the blood would come out just as full speed as his tears. The fly returned to his emotionless self after clearing its throat then looked at the mosquito, who was in great agony.

“Oh my, you don’t look well, do you?”

Marshal continued his involuntary screams of pain and squirmy jerks of random escape.

“Well Mr. Mosquito, I eat other animals dung because that is what I have a taste for. Just like you have a taste for blood, and snails have a taste for potatoes or what ever convenient produce happens be lying around.”

Marshal began slowing down with the squirming, and the screams turned into heavy panting. His many pupils were looking in random directions rapidly, though even that was slowing down to a halt.

“Though I feast on dung, judge not lest yee be judged. I have much variety in my wheel of fortune. I………am a round character. This life is better then the last as the one to come will be just as promising. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Blah, blah, blah. Is that the answer you were looking for? probably not, a?”

Finally, the fly conveyed a facial expression. It was a smile, clear as crystal. And he laughed as he asked Marshal a rhetorical question.

“You’ve never met a fly, have you?”

Marshal was very low on any sort of energy, but he arched his head so that he could look the fly in its millions of eyes without lids.

“Do you enjoy being a mosquito?” The fly said as it reached over to scoop up a bit of Marshals mid section bringing it back to his mouth casually. Marshal tried to scream, but for the life of him, he couldn’t -just like in dreams.

[Continuing with the one sided conversation] ” – -You don’t say. – – What is it like?” This is where there was a dramatic pause. The fly scooped up another hand full of Marshal and really focused on the taste this time.

“Enough fun. You’re tasty Mr. Mosquito, but I gotta tell ya: I prefer the shit.”

The fly, looking straight at Marshals face, was smiling as if a joke was just told, then spit one last time. The fly went back to eating the dung and when Marshals nerves stopped making him twitch, the fly, muttering to himself, said “Checkmate” and buzzed away from the shitty shades of a peach tree.

[So, ended Marshals path of self destruction.]