Phil had been flying for days, before he finally found the house that he was looking for. The smell of sugar and food wafted from every corner of the residence, and the screen doors were a patchwork of holes and tears.
It was perfect.
The fly darted through the screen, and into a massive kitchen. He followed his nose, and kept on flying. He stopped when the smell grew heavier, and opened his eyes.
Lemonade!
The bright yellow drink was sitting on a table, for all the world to see. Phil's mouth watered, and he slowly dipped down to take a small taste. Other flies were also there, trying to take some of the valuable liquid. It was fine. Flies were always on good terms with each other.
Suddenly another fly slammed clumsily into Phil, knocking him into the lemonade.
The liquid grabbed at his wings, and he shot out, flapping him wings wildly. The sugary water made his wings heavier and heavier, until they gave out, and he fell back down into the pitcher.
Phil flailed and struggled trying to hold onto something. His hands and feet struck the glass, and he quickly scrabbled out of the lemonade, clinging to the surface.
As he sat there, panting, he contemplated what to do next. His wings were too soggy and sticky - it wasn't possible to fly out. Maybe he could ask one of the other flies to carry him out? No, he was too heavy with his waterlogged wings.
His best option was to climb. So he did.
As he was scaling the glass, he felt it vibrate, he frowned, pressing his hands and feet harder to the glass. It shook again, a rhythmic vibration thrumming through the glass. He froze, and looked through the glass, at the distorted image of a human.
The human was massive, and he was heading straight for the lemonade.
All the flies panicked and bolted, flying away from the lemonade, maybe to return later. The human made a loud rumbling noise of surprise, before pressing his face close to the glass. Phil gulped when he realized the giant was staring straight at him.
"Are you alright, buddy?" The human whispered. Phil almost lost his grip as the glass shook from his voice. Even when whispering, the human was loud, and big. Phil barely processed what he was saying - something about if he was alright?
He would not deny how much fear was pulsing through his body. It was a miracle he wasn't dead. Crushed between two hands. Dead, as quick as that.
He saw the human move away, and he continued his climb upwards, trying to escape. Suddenly, a white mass appeared below him, rapidly approaching. He panicked, desperately clawing at the glass to go up faster, but it was useless. The object overtook him, and he was engulfed in it. But it was soft, and fluffy, and he rose up with it.
Phil soon was pushed up to the edge of the pitcher, and when he looked around, he paled. The human was holding him, albeit indirectly, in his hands.
Phil studied the object below him. It was, as he assumed, a tissue. A quick recap of what had happened admit his chaotic thoughts led him to believe that the human had raised him up out of the pitcher with the tissue.
But why? Did the human want to experiment with him? Kill him without getting his blood in the lemonade?
The human's eyes crinkled, in happiness or sadness, Phil couldn't tell.
"Welp, glad you're okay. You don't look to good, though." Phil felt the platform beneath him shake and move without warning.
"I'm sorry... really."
And with that, Phil was tumbling down, and down, before landing in a place that, though his nose loved, his other senses hated.
The human had dropped him, with the tissue, into the trash can.
On one hand, Phil was eternally grateful that he was still alive. But on the other, he hated that he had been dismissed, tossed into the trash. Perhaps dying would've been better off, instead of have the remnants of his pride destroyed
Regardless, he had to get out.
He quickly used the corners of the tissue to wipe off his wet wings, and carefully flew up and out of the trash can.
What did the human mean by "being sorry"?
That was the one question that kept floating around Phil's head. As he looked around, he spotted the human walking by again. With nothing much to do except find food, he decided to follow the human around. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two. He made sure he kept his distance, carefully keeping a large distance between him and the giant.
...
Staying with near the human was strange, to say the least.
The human's name was Ryan, and to put it simply, he was loud, energetic, and happy. He seemed to be around the age of a youth, but had the build of a human adult. He spoke two languages, one that Phil didn't know, and the other that he could understand... to a degree. Ryan was usually on playing games, though to Phil that seemed like a large waste of time.
The strangest part about the strange human was that, as it turned out, the rest of Ryan's family hated flies. Phil narrowly dodged being killed on multiple occasions, and he'd seen other flies meet their untimely demise. However, when it came to Ryan, he simply ignored them. If they were on his food, he'd wave them off, regardless of what his family would say about killing them.
Phil was also spotted by the human on multiple occasions.
The first time it had happened, Ryan had been at the table, eating some chips. Phil had flown around the giant human's head, and froze when those large brown irises had locked onto him. And yet, despite that, the human's face only softened into a smile. The look he gave Phil seemed to say, Carry on, I don't mind. And even if that was only Phil's assumptions, it held true, as Ryan never made any attempts to stop Phil.
As much as Phil was afraid to admit, Ryan was a human he'd be comfortable around. The human seemed to enjoy his company as well, as impossible as that seemed to be. He seemed to enjoy watching Phil buzz around him, and talk to him, even if it was obvious that Phil couldn't talk back.
Maybe, if Phil was just able to say something, get Ryan to understand him...
He shook away those thoughts every time, though. It was ridiculous, a fly communicating with a human? It was impossible, not to mention in any normal circumstance, a death wish.
But now that death was no longer an issue, how could Phil ever get Ryan to understand him?
Was that even possible?
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A/N: Phil is actually a fly I named after he started appearing everywhere I went. He might not be the same fly that I keep on seeing, but he sure seems to be the same one.
Please respect your Phil, wherever he is.
