FREDDY:   by Don Ferrari

   I have chosen this occasion

in front of this select group

to finally make a confession that has been pressing upon my being

for quite some time now.

So here goes. I do hope you will understand and not judge too harshly.

 I am a murderer. I just figured you should know this.

My last murder took place just a few weeks ago and I’ve felt so guilty

since, that I’ve decided to confess and take what comes.

The details, - AH!

I was in my house watching a movie. It was late at night and I heard a noise.

I put the TV on mute and sure enough there was a loud buzzing, and then I was assaulted.

This very large fly lit on my face - seemingly in total spite, and just as I reached up to brush it away, it flew off, only to land on my ear.

Well, soon it was a full fledged war. That fly wouldn’t leave me alone, and it was fast!  I say it, because I have not yet learned how to or had the opportunity to find out what sex a fly is.

Anyway, this critter was getting to me.

now basically I’m a total pacifist, a student of oneness, but philosophy flew out the window and I grabbed a roll of newspaper. I must interject here that I did ask the fly to stop and that I didn’t appreciate his game. Not once, but many times, but no way.

Then in one sudden gesture, the fly lit on my knee and looked directly into my eyes.

Wham! The paper came down and got it square on.

I felt relief for a moment in my victory. A battle won, and then as I looked at the limp form of the fly I started feeling really bad.

After all, the fly was god too. The same energy that activates me activates it.

I HAD KILLED GOD!

Now I got really sad. In an effort to re-do my wrong, I took the fly and tried to give it CPR. Now that is a trip, try it sometime.

It didn’t seem to be working so I tried a little heart massage. Well, that was even worse, cause, well, I totally squashed it.

Finally I realized I would have to live with this the rest of my life and probably beyond, so I washed my hands, took the fly and made a small coffin for it. I put some goodies in with it to carry it over. Actually it was some of my garbage, but isn’t that what fly’s like? Then I buried it by the rose bush, some rap music playing in the background.

The next morning I was still sad to realize that I had killed God, so I figured an obituary was in order. I had to make it up, not having a chance to ask the fly anything before it’s demise. Here’s how it went.

Murdered - Friday night. Freddy the fly suffered a violent death at the ands of the owner of the house in which he was staying. Freddy is survived by his wife Buzzila and their 473 children, all residents of the area. Fred and Buzzila had suffered a major sorrow earlier this year when seventeen of the children were eaten by a frog and another 34 got trapped on a fly strip.

Well, I sent it to the editor of the paper but they didn’t print it for some reason, so I thought to confess here and ask for forgiveness and am ready to take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate.

End: