He was an odd one, as beetles go. He buzzed a wasps buzz, upturned and kicking, his black belly exposed.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to disturb him. He buzzed along the paper, still unread. Face rested on two finger I drifted back to the days worry of monotony. I’m always lost without routine, nothing new gets done unless there’s some order about the rest of the day. But that’s when they started flying in.
Flies, the big see through wing kind that fly into wind shields. A few thumped against the window before flying in. They began buzzing around the room, five, eight, not more than eleven. I realized a video was still playing, the PC screen still glowing. They had stopped buzzing around the room and I wondered what they were doing in the city. I lent back, it was time to stop spending so much time with the PC, make a schedule perhaps.
The Beetle was gone and a lizard had sneaked down, gorging himself on the flies. One was caught in web of the resident spider who dances between the PC and the table, his wings gone. I spent the next few… minuets(?) telling myself that I should probably start writing. Nothing is new without the familiar, not even the see through wings on the floor.