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Fozzie the Phenomenal House Fly

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A large public dumpster stood still behind a pale dirty wall. This dumpster was earlier of a bright green color. Those were it’s younger days- it’s youth in all glory. Now, it was a much older, respected dumpster among the dumpster society. It’s color a vague mixture of brown dirt and reddish rust with  a faded shade of it’s original green color still alive along the base. There were dozens of black plastic bags packed with garbage all around the already full trash can. This was perhaps one of the dirtiest places in the entire district. All the trash from around here went right into this large dumpster. The smell of it expanded over to the neighboring plot. Perhaps the reason why there was no house built there.

Disgusting waste bins full of revolting remains of the dirty habits of human beings. It was a detestable location. The only people who came to this old dumpster were the ones who had to dispose off their garbage. Theoretically there should be people visiting to clean and maintain the dumpster, but humanity had seemed to have given up on it. Maybe it’s corruption among the authorities, maybe it’s the genuine nightmare of smell around it, maybe everyone hated the poor dumpster, maybe everyone united together to fully alienate the dumpster due to the sins of it’s past life or maybe it was just pure laziness.

For Flies however, it was a grand land mass to explore and feed on- An adventure. The dumpster is usually storming with house flies when it rains. However at the moment there is lesser traffic around here. The sunlight shines brightly over the great old dumpster- the garbage rots.

In the pits of this dirty dumpster, a fly of great grandeur was present on scene. This house fly wasn’t just any house fly. You’ll know what I mean soon enough, all you need to know at this point is that this particular fly had certain special abilities. They called him Fozzie. A peculiar name for some. Rumor has it that his actual name was Fauji – which translates to soldier in Hindi. However, being an organism with the gift of wings, his overseas exposure to organisms of varying cultures made it difficult for everyone to pronounce his name. Perhaps he figured Fozzie was universally easier to pronounce and stuck with it. Flies do have a tendency to stick to things.

Fozzie had a knack for adventure and a deep desire to explore and make the most of what he finds.

Thoroughly searching the depths of this dirty dumpster, Fozzie landed on an old crumpled half-torn newspaper front page. It seemed like someone had used it to wipe off  some food or dirt. It had dry stains all over.

Stumbling upon the piece of newspaper, fozzie began inspecting it. He felt that this paper didn’t belong here, that he could move around it to uncover delicious waste foods that could be hidden underneath. His examination of the situation and his determination to get the most out of this garbage heaven led him to search through the dirty stains only to find a huge headline written in bold letters on the visible part of the page. “Donald Trump is the New President-Elect!”

“How convenient”, fozzie said to himself. “This is exactly where this belongs”

Not that he personally loved the republicans, he wasn’t one of much interest in politics- Quite indifferent. You don’t really need to be too interested in politics to know how ridiculous the idea of having a racist, sexist, immature billionaire scumbag as the president is. The so-called most important person in the world being the textbook definition of a joke- A huge orange mark of shame for democracy and humanity.

Fozzie turned the other way and flew across. He had an odd habit. Not a conscious habit- more of an unconscious one. With every failure to find something useful, fozzie grew progressively more frustrated. Each failure brought about a sense of purposelessness. Flies have limited time.

He flew away from his morning failure, a slightly more frustrated version of himself, back in search for a juicy meal. Flying around the insides of the great old dumpster is a task of great ease for Fozzie. It’s what he was born to do, his destiny. His father’s words of wisdom flashed through his mind- “You have limited time son, make the most of what you can.” Fozzie snapped out of it as though he was protecting himself from a very unpleasant memory.

This mental distraction forced his movement to go into autopilot. Losing track of where exactly he was headed- he flew over and around the dumpster. Regaining focus he dived in once again, this time a little more eager to find his source of nutrition. He performed a swift landing onto an open chips packet.

He rampantly searched around for any valuable nutrition which hadn’t gotten lost in transition from a delicious commodity to a piece of garbage. He had set his expectations high this time. It felt almost like it was his destiny to find a good meal. To his disappointment, the packet had completely dried out.

He scanned the packet from inch to inch in search for something to quiet his hunger down, however all he found was more and more air. “This must have been a Lays packet.” He thought to himself. It was difficult to ascertain which brand that particular chips packet belonged to. It’s exterior had been hidden by the surrounding garbage leaving it’s inside exposed. Poor fozzie didn’t have the strength nor the time to flip it over.

His frustration grew from a bright yellow to a deeper orange. Swearing on his harsh luck, he fled from the grandfather dumpster to explore new opportunities.  Fozzie flew forward from the filth.

He went in a linear direction. His agile body allowed him to move fast. His irritation and impatience could be observed by his readiness to leave.

He became airborne within a second and directed himself towards his next target. This time his thirst was more than ever -multiple failed attempts to find anything valuable. His senses tingled. A freshly dead carcass of a bright white cow with a waterfall of blood pouring down from it’s neck. Some animal, whether beast or man, had attacked the cow’s neck and murdered it.

This was a jackpot for fozzie. He knew it wasn’t a dead human being- it was a dead cow. The only downside to this golden opportunity. He had to hurry before the Prime Minister’s precious hindutva brigade came around to give it it’s proper burial. Fozzie knew he had less time and had to gather as much nutrition as possible. He could smell the Gaurakshaks on their way. How he wished it were a dead human being! Much lesser attention is given to those corpses by these political bodies. Usually it’s these political bodies supplying those corpses themselves.

Fozzie landed on the rotting carcass. He didn’t have much company. Many were going to lose out on this wonderful opportunity. A dead cow full of nutrition. He feasted on it. His temperament now becoming one of a mild nature. At ease. Calm.

The calmness of a good meal vibrated through his body. Fozzie sat back and relaxed on a comfortable spot among the dead cow’s fur. He felt safe there. He knew they wouldn’t harm anything on a cow. Cows are scared, right? His rest was one of great relaxation, however wasn’t too long in duration.

Fozzie felt danger. He could sense a pack of dogs running towards the cow. He flew up to scan his environment. After getting a better view, he realized these weren’t just any dogs. They were wild.

They bolted towards the dead cow. These wild dogs were hungry. Possibly even as hungry as Indira Gandhi was for power. However no amount of power could have stopped those starving dogs from furiously running towards the carcass.

Fozzie knew better than to get caught in between these starving killers. He had to leave. Within a couple of seconds, The pack had begun biting into the carcass as though they were eating for the first time in centuries. Fozzie looked on from a nearby tree bark he had flown towards.  He could see a dry land with one large mixture of white and red in the center crowded by the teeth of these hungry beasts. The pack tore through the dead cow within a few minutes.

A group of stronger beings attacking a helpless, weak and exposed being. Much like what happens in the rural areas between corrupt landlords and peasants, between loan sharks and indebted loanees. Fozzie liked to see the realities of the world. He had a knack for comparing the behavior of wild animals with human beings. He knew they were practically the same. It was more of a difference of fur and clothing really.

Fozzie’s divine contemplation was disturbed- he felt two large water droplets fall to his left and right. It had started drizzling, fozzie had to take cover before this drizzle grew into a storm. Suddenly, hunger seemed less of a priority. It’s funny how easily life’s biggest priorities get overtaken. As Fozzie gained elevation a large raindrop knocked him right by the head. His take off abruptly transforming into an emergency crash landing.

Uncontrollably spiraling down towards the ground, fozzie was helpless as his petite body couldn’t withstand the force of the raindrop and the wind. Exactly where he would end up falling, depended on the direction the wind was blowing in. Fozzie fell face first in flowing faeces. The transformation from drizzle to rain had taken place.

Ideally getting caught up in faeces is a paradise for fozzie. Nutritional Heaven.  However, the rain was too big a threat for anything to be paradise. He wanted to sit, enjoy and relax. The rain seemed like conservative elders restraining young girls from doing what they want to. An unwanted force preventing one from enjoying themselves.

The message of rain was loud and clear. Run away now or be crushed by my enormous force. Fozzie took a big leap avoiding the raindrops. His head still feeling dizzy from the fall. He dodged the raindrops, a skill he had procured over time, in his aerial search for shelter. Dizzy, hungry, scared and tired fozzie found his way right back into the grandfather dumpster.

The dumpster embraced the fly lovingly, providing fozzie shelter from the woeful rain as though it was an old sacred being caring and nurturing for a lost young soul in danger. Much like a grandfather protecting his grandchild.

Fozzie took a minute to himself, while having flown deep inside the dumpster. He was away from the threat. His meal had long been digested. In midst of all the previous commotion fozzie forgot to feast. His limited time with the cow could only sustain his hunger for so long. Trapped inside the dumpster fozzie remembered his father’s words again. He needed to make quick progress else he’d starve, just like his father did long ago..

The unpleasantness of the situation began to get to fozzie. In his growing frustration and hunger, fozzie scanned the environment for nutrition. The dumpster may have been large but fozzie was stuck deep inside. He had found a little room like space between the garbage- A small gap protecting him from the water flowing inside the dumpster. The wind had cause the garbage above to fly to one side, providing a ceiling for Fozzie.

“I feel as lost as Rahul Gandhi feels when he gives a speech.” – Fozzie stated in his confusion.

I’ve heard that somewhere before- he thought to himself. He knew there had been too many jokes on Poor RaGa already for him to possibly invent a new one without hard work and time. His senses tingled. Perhaps there was too much cringe from remembering rahul gandhi’s speeches, perhaps his stomach was growling, who knows?

Given he couldn’t do much about Rahul Gandhi at the time, Fozzie looked to kill the demon called hunger. He had to choose between waiting out the storm and finding his next target- the latter option being one of incredibly high risk, the former being one of great resilience. However, Fozzie’s frustration could often be displayed by his greed. Staying at one place was no option for him.

Fozzie looked upwards and found one little passage through which he could fit right in. A good opportunity to explore. He flew right into it, just fitting through. Luckily fozzie wasn’t a bear! His small body allowed him to just pass through. Through this tiny passage he discovered a little cavity between the garbage- caused due to presence of cut out tree branches dumped above. Fozzie’s sensed something in his environment.

He searched around hastily. As he reached out he stumbled onto something. fozzie began feeling around. It was making a rapid upward-downward movement and seemed like a sharp tentacle. Gaining this knowledge he realized what he had stumbled upon. It was a dying cockroach grasping out, struggling to survive.

“If he was alive I would have been dead right now, as dead as the Aam Aadmi Party.”

That being true- fozzie had just found the perfect meal. He began investigating the cockroach to see if it was dead. Upon investigation he was sure of the cockroach being dead. Cause of death however, Insect poison- sprayed all over his upper body.

Fozzie had two options- Either he ate what little he could from the cockroach and wait his time OR he could hunt something more fulfilling, leaving this safe opportunity behind. He sat back in contemplation for a couple of seconds. He figured he might as well feast on what he has- as his hunger grew stronger. Beginning to feast on the safe side of the cockroach- He looked above to see a passage to exit. He could see the rain had stopped. His greed grew stronger.

Immediately disregarding the dead cockroach, fozzie began flying his way out. Closer and closer to what he knew would be the time of his life- A dirty garbage area right after rain. The perfect opportunity to cure his hunger for a prolonged amount of time. He began seeing the way out, as he reached the brim he stopped right at the top of the open dumpster to search for his next target. On searching he saw a half eaten sweet within sight.

As he flung to it everything around him suddenly turned dark as a strong force gripped fozzie. The force took hold of him and pulled him backwards right into a lizard’s mouth. The lizard’s tongue had caught poor fozzie and fozzie’s little body had now been crushed and swallowed. This was unfortunately fozzie’s final flight.

As he was dying- fozzie had a thought, his last.

“If not for greed, perhaps we’d all survive.”

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