THE LAST MAN ON EARTH....

...is dead....

Isaac and the Fly...or...SuperFly!

He heard it before he even knew it was in the room. You’d have thought he would have heard the buzzing.

But no, it was simply a muted ’thwack’, and the little housefly landed on his desk. Right in the middle of it. Isaac looked down and saw the little black aeronaut, kicking its legs feebly, over on its back, one of its tiny transparent wings split down the middle. Like a sad winter leaf.

Isaac looked around him. None of the other kids had noticed it. He wondered what Ian was doing. He was probably having sex. That’s what his big brother would be doing while he was examing a dying fly in the middle of Advanced Calculus. Some girl would be screaming out his name and he would probably not even remember it.

Isaac extended one long, skinny finger out toward the little fly. It was small, even for what it was. A runt fly.

It buzzed every couple of seconds, skimmed along the surface a few micrometers (how Isaac loved this word) on it’s pathetic little cellophane wing. Isaac made sure none of the kids were looking. His teacher was going on about stuff he’d lost interest in two years ago. And he wasn’t smart enough to teach Isaac what he wanted to know, now. There weren’t any high school teachers that were. Just like there hadn’t been any middle school teachers.

He pushed his finger closer to the little dying black housefly.

Look at it’s tiny brain. How does it think with that? Or better...how does it fly?

Isaac licked the tip of his finger. He wasn’t sure why. He reached out and touched the head of the poor little downed pilot.

And then he was blind. His eyes went white -- or the world did.

Isaac jerked his head back. He opened his mouth to shout but as he did the world hummed back into focus. Went from a universe-eating white nothingness...to shapes...to colors...to the world he knew. He closed his mouth.

The other kids surely saw it. He looked at them. They didn’t look back. They were all either sleeping or zoning out on the monotone wavelength of the teacher’s bored voice.

Before he remembered to look down at the fly he heard the buzzing.

It shot past him, and it left a black streak in the air.

The buzzing was so LOUD now.

A few of the kids were looking, now, too. Trying to find the fly in the air. The teacher stopped talking, suddenly.

"What is that?"

Someone was going to shout ’Bee!’ any second. Isaac was sure of it. Flies just didn’t buzz that loud. Maybe horseflies. But he didn’t think even they. It was as loud as a surprised cicada.

And then he saw it. Streaking toward the window.

He flinched before it happened. Like he was expecting it. Which just simply for God’s sake isn’t possible.

The window shattered. Children screamed. The teacher jumped, his glasses falling off his nose and clattering onto his desk. But it was lost in the sound of the violent shattering. It felt like the sky had busted open.

Isaac watched the fly as it shot across the lawn outside. It was leaving a black line in the air behind it. Like it was drawing on the world.

Isaac closed his eyes. Opened them.

He looked down at his fingers.

Isaac swiveled his head, at the kids, running for cover. Screaming at the cuts they’d received. From the explosion of glass fragments. Calling for their mothers and fathers. Isaac sat completely still. The teacher looked like he thought it was a bomb. Like it was terrorism. His face was begging the world to right itself.

Isaac pushed his fingers into each other, interlocked them, tying them to each other. He looked around. He smiled. For their sakes. To look normal.

And something inside him started to shake.



...the end?