THE LONELY PLASTIC BOY

A fly was bugging him during the last few days. He had been hoping that the animal would go to sleep, but the Sun kept waking it up. Then he opened the balcony door, and the fly drove away. She was immediately replaced with a family of fruit flies which had made their home in a bunch of tomatoes left on the kitchen counter top.

He hates it, when his tomatoes have seen the fridge.

Only one of the fruits was rotten. He threw that one away, and then he prepared the others into a tomato sauce. “This needs one onion,” he thought to himself, thus he discovered more of them, fruit flies, because a second family lived amongst the onions.

Only one bulb was rotten. He threw that one away, pondering on the natural wisdom of the flies: They do not eat all the food at once. Perhaps one fly finds her way through the skin of something edible, and there she lays her eggs. Later the larva eat their food until they metamorphose into tiny adults who will leave unless they find a suitable spot to lay their eggs. On that second turn , the chances are that all the available food would be targeted.

Flies make the perfect pet for someone like him, who lives alone on the fifth floor of some new building in a big city.

Earlier he had imagined a lonely plastic boy who was exploring a world of his own making, a world virtual and especially created for his soul. “My soul is made of plastic, the lonely boy explained to the Sky (indeed he addressed the sky like people used to do). --Plastic adapts very well, and it can last forever or almost, continued the boy. Death is but the sea that we shall leave behind, sometimes in the future, just like the fish with lungs and legs left the waters, a long time ago.”

Sky was a rosy peach, and beautiful, yet it couldn’t talk, so it remained silent, mute, but the Sun was still visible, and as everybody knows: It sings.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The lonely plastic boy by reading_is_dangerous]