The Summer of the Flesh Fly

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As most h2g2ers know, the Alternative Writing Workshop is a fund of fascinating works in progress, a forum where h2g2 writers meet, greet, read, critique, and generally tease the life out of each other.

Recently, Cactuscafe poured inspirational fuel on the prose fires with her story entitled Grasshoppers in the Park. Soon everybody was grasshoppering around. The results were so good, we thought we'd share them with a wider audience.

Here is Magwitch's melancholy and moving tale of the grasshoppers.


The Summer of the Flesh Fly

It is high summer; my children are playing by the stream, seeing who can jump the furthest. I start my daily forage of the garden looking for food. I find, lettuce and cabbage and several fruit tree leaves. My husband helps me carry them indoors.

My husband joins the children by the stream and they all play merrily until I call them in for lunch. The rest of the day is quite uneventful, we lounge around, eat some more and retire quite early.

The following day is when the change begins.

First my children start to complain about a general itch, then my husband. I tell them not to scratch, but they ignore me, as usual. My husband helps me with the foraging again, but I can see he is clearly weakened. The children are sat indoors, they don’t want to do anything. It is Monday.

Tuesday starts another beautiful day, however, when my family emerge I am horrified to find they have all developed a curious swelling on their backs, and the itching has intensified. We eat very little that day, all I can do is comfort my ailing family.

By Wednesday the itch has become a throbbing pain and none of them can move. I forage around as usual thinking they have just got to eat something and in a few days all will be well. I was wrong.

On Thursday things become even worse, the children are screaming, my husband is screaming, the pain is intense. During the afternoon, I discovered my youngest dead, a small white worm emerging from his abdomen. One by one all my children died that afternoon. My husband was the strongest he lasted until the evening.

The screams have stopped.

Today is Friday, I'm hiding in the dark, frightened but ever vigilant, mourning the death of my Grasshopper family.

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