It was a stinking hot day in the Australian outback this day, way out near Whoop Whoop somewhere. Nothing was moving. Not even the ants. The air was thick and dry and walking outside felt like suffocation.
Andy sat inside the homestead, just watching nothing out the window. No breeze. Not a whisper stirred in the dry, red surroundings. Trees clung to life with a bit of green in their leafage, burrowing their roots deep into who knows where for whatever water there was down there.
The sky promised nothing with its blue baroness which stretched over miles into the distance.
And then he heard it.
A buzzing noise.
It wasn’t a bee.
Andy knew straight away it was a Blowie. They have an unmistakable sound.
For anyone reading this who doesn’t already know, a Blowie is a Blow Fly. A big, ugly, annoying insect.
“Damn Blowie!” Andy announced out loud. “Where’s my swatter?”
He walked around the house in a scurry, looking for the fly swatter which wasn’t where was supposed to be because nothing ever is when you need it right now.
“What are you looking for?” his wife, Martha, asked in a bothered manner. She was in the kitchen baking an apple pie for dessert that night. The fan was on but since she had the oven cranked up, it only somewhat cooled the room. Well, actually, it just swirled the hot air around.
“What have you done with my swatter?” Andy asked in a huff as he opened the drawers and messed around in them, having a quick geezer.
“I haven’t touched your precious swatter. Look in the laundry!” Martha assertively suggested.
“Humph!” Andy grumbled. He located the swatter under a stack of rags.
Going back to the lounge room, Andy sat back in his chair near the window, listening intently, just waiting to surprise the Blowie with a swat or two.
There it is, on the window sill!
“Darn it!” came the curse from Andy’s lips.
“Bbbbzzzz” Blowie kept flying around in its erratic, zig-zaggy way, from the window and further into the lounge room.
“You little bugger. I’ll get you,” Andy declared in a determined voice.
He followed Blowie slowly, swatter in hand, keeping a close eye on where it was, and trying to anticipate when to have a go at it.
There, it’s on the wall!
“Bugger!” came the cry. “You’re a cunning little thing, aren’t you? I’ll fix you one way or another.”
Andy went into the bedroom and located a thong. Not the butt-wearing kind. The feet-wearing kind. The fly was escaping through the holes of the swatter, he decided. So, holding the thong out in front of himself, he returned to the lounge room, armed with a stronger weapon. Scanning the area, he discovered Blowie resting on the coffee table. Andy tip-toed towards the fly.
“Goddam it!” Andy shouted, getting more and more frustrated.
“Bbbbzzzz!!” Blowie flew around his head. He swished and swoshed at it until it flew right away. Andy spun around slowly searching every part of the walls, doorways, furniture, and windows. Blowie was no longer in the lounge room. Andy heard Blowie’s distinctive buzz coming from the kitchen. Instinctively, he thought about it getting all over the food and rushed in after it.
Martha was standing at the sink about to put the fresh-out-of-the-oven apple pie on the window sill to cool. Blowie had landed on her head. Cautiously, Andy advised his wife,
“Martha, don’t move.”
“What the hell are you doing!” she screamed, holding her head with her hands. “You could’ve knocked me out, you silly old bugger!”
“Argh, you always complain. That Blowie is toying with me. I’ll get it, but,” Andy promised. He perked his ears to listen for that unmistakable noise.
Andy went back into the laundry and returned with the deadly fly spray. Blowie had now flown from the kitchen to the hallway door frame. Quietly, he crept up on the fly, hoping to surprise it.
“Aaaarrrrgghhh!” Andy was at the end of his tether with this stubborn fly.
“Bbbzzzz!” Blowie was now in the back bedroom.
Moving as quietly as he could, Andy followed Blowie’s teasing call. Nothing was working, he brilliantly deducted. Blowie wasn’t scared of anything at all. He had to up the anti. Going to the locked cupboard in the in the outside shed, Andy returned with his rifle.
“Now, let’s see who the smartest is!” Andy challenged Blowie. Confidently, he stood in the doorway of the back bedroom. If this was a western, you could imagine smoke, a silhouette of light coming from behind him, as he stood looking strong with his rifle pointed forward. But this wasn’t a western, it was the Aussie outback, so there was just a haze of heat coming up from under the floor boards. Blowie didn’t stand a chance.
Andy found Blowie immediately. It was resting on the ceiling next to the light bulb. A smirk came across Andy’s face as he lifted his rifle and lined it up with the fly. He was going to win this fight, he felt it in his beer belly.
“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not getting away that easily!” Andy hollered. Martha appeared behind him, screaming,
“What are you doing with your gun!”
“I’m killing the blow fly, of course!” Andy shouted back.
Blowie was on the window, now. He frantically, reloaded his rifle and pointed it point blank at Blowie.
“You’re not getting away this time, you little shit.”
Glass sprayed everywhere!
Blowie was still on the glass of the shattered window.
At that moment, Martha approached the window and swished at Blowie, and “Bbbbzzz!”, the fly flew through what remained of the window, into the heat and out of the house.
Martha looked down at her defeated husband. Firmly, she said,
“Now, if you’ve finished stuffing around, come and have some lunch.” When she got to the door, she turned to Andy, who was still sitting on the floor in disbelief,
“You have a lot of cleaning up to do, now haven’t you?”