Short story: The Demise of a Fly

 

 Originally written in Balochi by: Dr. Nehmat Ullah Gichki

Translated into English by: Uzair Mehr

 

Every mortal has to die. Every living being expires, but the soul never dies. If it does, who cares? What’s the matter? The matter is not of the death but life. The matter is about the despondency, losing, and life. If the life lived in disappointment and lost, then what is its worth?  The matter distracted again.  The matter is not of the death but the stamina of life; the proficiency of life. You have a life, so do I.

 

 I grabbed the pen and could not control my instinct today. I will evince all catharsis of my heart; I will express all old thoughts, whatever may come, so that no one should say I’m inexistent and quiet. Neither should someone be heartsick nor keep me from penning now. Nobody should stop me now. Nothing can stop me.

 

I grasped the pen, brought the paper closer, and wore the glasses. Let’s see who can stop me now? The pen will not be separated from my hand now until someone chops off my claw.

 

“Damn this evil!”

 

 Meanwhile a damned fly with its filthy wings alighted a bit afar from spectacles on my nose like an airplane.

 

“Cursed to be this wicked being.”

 

It’s a living being as well. What is the use of its life except nauseating others? However, no matter damn to it. I don’t care. It’s alive for itself, but curse to it that it deflected my attention. I placed down the pen and indignantly started repelling it.

 

I wish this doomed fly was defunct and extinct and I would have done so much so far, and my pen run like an intractable camel, however, it’s not too late yet, and this despicable creature can’t trammel and change my intentions.

 

 I gripped the pen and wore the spectacles again. Took the paper and contemplated opting for the most appropriate words and kept excogitating ideas. It wasn’t a hard nut to crack for me, though. Who can halt the pen, now? It, once laid to paper, coursed right away.

 

“This world in which you and I live, and this planet earth on which you and i dwell who’s the creator of them?”

 

Mine and thine. We are humans. How much do I posses and how much do you own? You the trencherman epicure; I’m the ravenous and starved; you the dressed-up and I’m the au naturel and bare; your land the interminable and spacious and mine not even a span long. How? Why is it so?

 

Oh my God! The vile fly reappeared little closer this time and set down on the nib of the pen now. What should I do now? There’s no other way save stamping it out. As I raised my hand, the fly winged and I said to my heart, look it is scared now. Death is hard. But it wasn’t the case as I surmised it to be. The fly wasn’t any frightened. It landed on my leg face-to-face with its puffed-out chest at second time touching its mustache.

 

“I will not spare you, now. If you think you are smart to your own ambit, I’m also an offspring of humankind. I’ve seen a lot of courageous and valiant beings like you.”

 

I went on tattling and paved my path for finishing the task. I folded the paper slowly and gradually; first in two folds and then in four folds and finally in eight folds. The paper has turned into something rougher than a stick. I clenched the paper and as I elevated my hand, all of a sudden, a bang reverberated. With the strike of paper, an unheard howl dissipated all around. The fly fell down face-down with the sound.

“Come one, you weeny creature! you dare to challenge me or not,” I said assertively.  

I focused on the paper again but it has creased. I was engulfed in musing once again that what has happened now. The paper was on its place what has actually happened is the dispatching of the fly by my own hands. His pathetic soul was itself, hapless.

 

I had to subdue everything to the best of my might. It was my range so I did it but what should I do know? I had to straighten out the paper and reflect to interview the ideas, thoughts, and dispose the words now. Who will trouble oneself to do this all and regrettably it has betided me? With these thoughts, I looked above. It was launch time. I wondered what launch would be today and what my children will eat.

 

I stumbled on this thought that it is not my cup of tea. My duty is only to foster my children and I’ve nothing to do with anything else. Leave this bootless job. Who has let by the pangs of hunger and search of sustenance to do any other task? Where have my ardent feelings and emotions gone?