Ode To A House Fly - A Short Story

A lone house fly settled on a window pane.   It stared about itself confused that it was confined.  Just on the other side of this invisible wall he could see the vibrantly green grasses of a new summer day, and he longed for the freedom to travel from blade to blade.   Halted was his progress as his suction like feet stuck and removed themselves from this glass prison, as he strolled up and down the frame.   The heat of the sun was evident on his underbelly, as it caressed and warmed him he felt heartbroken at his situation.   
On the other side of him was a room.   Used by the humans he had pestered over night as he was lost in the dark.   When he buzzed near them to get direction they swatted at him, and when he persisted with his pestering they attempted to flatten him with a yellow swatter attached to the end of a white thin stick.   It was fearful being trapped in here, and he hoped at some point his force field would vanish and cease to be.  When that event occurred he could remove himself from this hostility and be agile and free through endless airs.
Within this prison he saw shadowed walls.  Lifeless shelves and black boxes elevated upwards.  Black boxes that showed bright lights that reminded him of the summers light, but contain only hopeless cold.   The human beings were irritated by his attempt to pass into this portal and were keen on destroying him.  He of of course had wised up and buzzed about that room several times, and onto the stank of a the sofa they had been sitting on and while it was rather arid it calmed him reminding him of his outdoor surroundings.
The lone house flies eyes darted about him seeing and feeling the sunny day, and dreaming of feeling it in its entirety about his whole self.   His wings twinged at the thought, fluttered a moment and he buzzed out and into the window hoping that with just the right about of pressure he might escape.  Alas it did not work and he only succeeded in causing injury to himself.  An injury that pained him as he fell like a leaf to the windows edge.   There was an eager fear in him.   Even as he sat there upside down his legs kicking up into the empty spaces before him, he could feel himself getting older.
Even he knew his life was a short one, and every second of it amplified, every breath he took a quicker one.   It was as though life was speeding passed him, and he could not stand that he aged here within this angered room.  Soon he found himself back on his feet and he buzzed his wings and paced the length of the window ledge.
This indeed had been his final window in the house to attempt.   After all the other failed escapes, after all the other pointless wandering he had to get out by this way.  There was no other chance for him, this was his final course of action.  He paced in panicked hurry. Up and down he moved the length of the ledge, before looking up at the transparent wall and in heated defiance he hurled himself at the hard surface.  Once, and then twice, and a third time for good measure.  Each time beating his head against in in pained thuds.
It was unfortunate though that in his irritable panic that he buzzed continuously. It was also unfortunate that the small human boy was now curiously walking toward him and the buzzing noises he made in frustrated attempts at breaking the barrier.   As he longed for the green and bright warmth of the outdoors the small child reached out his thumb and forefinger and the poor fly was snagged back by its wings.
In vain attempts he kicked out his feet, and tried to stab at the large sweaty human fingers with his sucker but nothing worked.  His eyes darted left and then right, and up and down and all about him but there was no one else.  He called out with harsh buzzes and kicked out his feet as he was carried from the window, as he was carried away from the sights of green, and the heated rays of the sun.
The boy pressed the house fly down onto the kitchen counter, not squishing him but making sure as not to let him escape.  And then with what only seemed to take a millisecond in human time, began to take minutes within the flies mind, his wings were torn away.  He felt the fibers of his flesh all warm and sticky being yanked from the tough surfaces of his hide.  He heard the fleshy sound of them being torn away, and it pained him so.  In his panic he tried to flutter them but it began to hurt worse and he realized they were now entirely gone.  The boy removed his fingers and the fly kicked and rolled.
The fly attempted everything to stave off his inevitable demise.   He still had half a life to live, he still had flowers to visit, bee's to insult, he still had birds to avoid.   He rolled about on the counter and kicked and screamed unable to buzz his curses at the boy who was now rubbing the remainder of the wings into dust between his chubby fingers.  Then the fly felt hopeless and kicked once more.
His big bug eyes looked on about him, looking up defiantly towards the sunny outside.  Just a few feet from him he could see the sunlight entering into that heartless human home and he just wanted to feel it one more time.   In pained moves he rolled about several times till he found his feet below him and he took steps towards the edge of the counter.   It was just within view and he could make it, he had to feel that summer heat, he had to feel it and then he could spend his last moments dreaming of an eternity of open spaces.   Dreaming of the green and dirt.   Seeing his offspring well fed and on their way to their pathetic little lives.   Then as if by a miracle he felt strength return to him, and he moved faster, his drive was clear.   Just these thoughts of dreaming pushed him ever closer to this goal.
Then the fat sweaty thumb of the human boy came down hard on the flies back and with a crack and squish his guts were splattered on the wooden surface.