The fly flew close to the spider’s web. It missed it and landed on a branch next to it. The spider crawled to the middle of the web from the other side.

‘Good day, Fly.’

‘Good day, Spider.’

‘What brings you to this part of the garden today? You don’t come round here often.’

‘Second time, I think. I’m exploring, I’m on an adventure!’

As quickly as the words left the fly’s mouth, the spider ran across its web and reached out its front two legs to catch the fly.

What should have been an easy meal for the spider turned out to be unfulfilled expectations, as the fly pushed off with its feet and escaped by the skin of its wings.

It was a clear day, and the sun was shining bright. The fly, feeling a spell of tiredness from the spider escape, landed on the cool soil.

The coolness was from a slight damp. 

Strange, thought the fly, how could its surface be so damp on such a hot day?

More soil fell from the sky. Enough that it would have buried the fly if it didn’t fly away quickly enough.

Once it was a sufficiently safe distance from the ground, it looked back to see what was happening. A person was gardening, digging holes and burying new plants.

If the raining soil didn’t get me, thought the fly, the creatures living in the soil might have. 

The fly needed to calm down; nearly perishing twice was enough to fell any being, insect or human.

It flew to the gap it knew of in the shed’s wall. From the outside to the in; from daylight to darkness.

As though being short-sighted wasn’t bad enough for the fly, its eyesight could barely see anything not illuminated by the limited light.

The fly could hear a buzz. The fly could hear many buzzes. At first, the buzzing was coming from only one corner, before the buzzing got louder and louder. The strands of sunshine lit up wasps as they flew next to the window. 

The fly’s presence had angered them, and they wanted to ensure the fly knew that. They surrounded the fly from every angle and wasted no time in swiftly diving towards it.

There was little hope left for the fly; the wasps didn’t like intruders, however unintentional the intrusion was.

The fly didn’t have time to analyse the situation. It leapt forward and flew towards the gap, as fast as its wings could carry it.

It escaped and found itself in the light; the warm rays of the midday sun were enough to make it feel safe once again. As long as it avoided spider’s webs and dark sheds, it knew it would live to see tomorrow.

The greenhouse door was open and there was no sign of any humans near it.

I’ll relax in there for a bit, thought the fly. It’s warm, it’s quiet, and, most importantly, there is nothing in there that can kill me.

The fly flew into the greenhouse; it flew around the inside perimeter for a few minutes, before deciding to take some well-earned rest. It landed on one of the many leaves in the greenhouse. It stayed in the same position it landed for a short while, enjoying the silence and respite. It had been quite an eventful morning.

It started to walk round the leaf before suddenly remembering that the humans like to keep many unknown plants in the greenhouse; types that the fly does not encounter in the local wild.

Its legs’ instincts did not fail before, and they weren’t going to start failing now. As another part of the leaf snapped shut and tried to trap the fly, it jumped into the air; its wings took it back out into the open. As warm and quiet as the greenhouse was, the fly knew it wasn’t the safe place that it first thought it was.

It flew towards the house, following a sweet scent. The doorway was blocked; not by a door, but by a hanging fly-repellent. The fly found a gap as the suspended threads were lifted by the wind.

The fly landed on the wall in what it believed to be the kitchen; it observed its surroundings and contemplated its next move.

It became apparent that the sweet scent was coming from a cake; presumably warm and fresh, the cake lay on a plate on the sideboard.  

The fly’s eyes located it almost instantaneously. The fly knew that the humans had a ritual where they celebrate turning a year older, so that may be what the cake is for. That didn’t deter the fly; the fly saw and smelled a treat.

If the fly was quiet enough that it could land on the cake, it could eat to its heart’s content, then fly away home.

The time was now. It had to go for it; it had to reach the cake without being heard by the human sat at the table. The human was preoccupied with reading a newspaper.

As the fly sprung off the wall and flew towards the cake, it felt a sense of relief, like anything could be possible.

Unfortunately, the fly could not hear the buzzing sound its wings were making.

It was hit by a single shot from the human and died immediately.

‘Damn flies,’ said the human, as it unrolled the newspaper.