Fly On The Wall
At one time I didn’t care about the affairs of humans. I was content with my limited existence; eat, sleep, fly. Like other flies I was unaware of my mortality, aside from a survival instinct.
Life was simple and I had no master.
Now I must do the Wizard’s bidding. I am his eyes and ears on the walls of his choosing.
The Wizard extracts the conversations from the memory I should not have. I recognize that I don’t have a large enough brain for memory. How do I know that? The Wizard has made me so much more than what I should be.
He pats the top of my head as I crawl across his fingers. No one looks twice at the homeless man talking to himself. He, too, is next to invisible in his disguise, but I can go where he cannot.
“Good boy,” he says, as though I am a loyal dog.
Loyalty. A concept I should not understand, and do not feel. If I could break away from him I would. If I could go back to the not-knowing, I would.
I am the fly on the wall. The world does not know enough to fear me.