“Don’t. Don’t make a move. Let me crush you right on the spot. You’ll be punished for invading my privacy in the middle of the night. I declared his death sentence with a swatter in my hand, but the fly on the wall wasn’t scared at all. He was mocking me with his repulsive compound eyes the very moment I issued the death warrant. The second I raised my hand, he flew off the wall and crashed into the window glass, and circled the room like a maniac. I patiently waited for the right time.
After the maneuver, he landed on the curtain rod and I took the rare opportunity to jump off the ground to strike him down. Sure enough, I missed the bastard embarrassingly so I sat to contemplate my next move. Why would a little fly make it mission in life to torment me in the middle of the night? We both knew there was no way out. The door was shut and windows closed; one of us had to fall tonight.
As I was fantasizing the creative ways to destroy my enemy, the insect callously opened another front in the war and suddenly flew right into my face. A split second before clocking me in the eye, he changed his path and violently circled around my head. Now the only way to strike him down was to punch my own face. This charade had gone long enough.
He then flew to the top corner of the room where two walls met the ceiling and took a unique position to control the entire war zone, my small room with nothing in it but a few fresh canvases on the floor with a little stool in front, and the easel supporting my freshly painted woman in nude lying on her back seductively posing now impatiently waiting to see the end of this theater.
As I had my eyes fixed on the enemy, I cautiously pulled the stool closer with my toes, lifted one leg and stepped up. As soon as I managed to stand on the bench, the fly resorted to a vicious tactic to throw me off balance. He generated a head piercing noise and circled the room too far for me to reach and too close to compound my torment. Once again I madly leaped in the air to strike him down and claim his life.
I fell to the ground and the buzzing stopped. The room plunged into an eerie silence; no sign of insect. Anxiously, I scanned every inch of the carpet searching for a little black spot. He was nowhere to be found. I gazed at every corner of the room looking for his crushed body when suddenly I noticed the monster sitting where I could never have expected. It was lurking right in the middle of the long pubic hairs of my beauty. “No, the paint is fresh,” I pleaded in agony.
As easy as it was to strike him now, it was impossible for me to do so. I loved my art more than I hated my enemy. I was petrified with my hand clamped over my mouth realizing how much damage he could inflict on my beauty and how easily he could destroy me. The hideous creature was clinging to the most sacred part of her body waiting for my next move. I had none as he’d already invaded my soul.
My only hope was he wouldn’t make any sudden moves on my freshly painted virgin. I quietly dropped my weapon and kneeled before my art and threw myself at the mercy of my ruthless enemy.
Moments later and before my bewildered eyes, the repulsive insect started fondling my woman with his disgusting claws and she responded his advances by seductive shifts of her hips. I could hear her heavy breathing and I could see the insatiable lust in her rhythmic vibration of her thighs in pleasure. It was so difficult to say if the bug was more satisfied at seeing me in pain or seeing her in pleasure.
She brushed her body on my canvas and took a more compromising position. My beautiful creation opened her mouth and gasped for air, and I could see the tip of her tongue moisturizing her lower lip. How beautiful her rosy tongue complimented the crimson of her sinful lips. Oh, how painful it was to see my love losing her innocence to a monster in my presence. How cruel could she be?
With the lustful gyrations of her hips, she further tempted the creature and moments later the insect crawled between her thighs and disappeared. She then closed her legs and coiled her body and her moaning and panting tarnished the serenity of midnight.
She was ravaged before my eyes and the sharp pieces of her pleasure scarred my soul. The vibrancy of her flesh on my canvas revived my imagination in ways I never thought possible. With her every move, she created vivid colors I’d never thought existed and with her every act, she made an exotic image I’d never dared to paint in my wildest dreams.
She was drowning in the colorful ocean of desire and with every sudden movement of her sinful flesh she artistically portrayed her pleasure with the colors of my pain. Helplessly, I watched an insect reshape my imagination, redefine my thoughts and recreate my art. I was condemned to witness my devastation for moments that seemed as long as eternity until she was gratified in the climax of ecstasy and exploded in delight.
Finally the dripping insect flew off my canvas and my love vanished in a palette of fresh paints.
*Saeed Tavakkol was born in Ahvaz a city in southern Iran. He immigrated to the United States in 1983 a few years after the Iranian revolution. His chaotic childhood, his participation in revolution and living in the turmoil of the post revolutionary society engaged in a war greatly motivated him to create.
Tavakkol’s fictional works appeared in Café Irreal, 3 AM, Hackwriters.com, A Long Story Short, Weird Year, Exiled Writes Ink. Etc. His stories have been translated into several languages.
He published his first short story collection, “Confessions of a Writer” in 2005.
He writes prose, poetry and paints.