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QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

In

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QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

in

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

:toxx: in

Week 53

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

Week 53: Horrors of History
Extreme Flash: Everything is far too bright for comfort

26 Seconds in Dallas
1287 words


Removed. Check the archive.

QuoProQuid fucked around with this message at 03:07 on Nov 2, 2023

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

In.

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

in

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

in. treat.

QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P


forgot the treat.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Il7G4KUuHg

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QuoProQuid
Jan 12, 2012

Tr*ckin' and F*ckin' all the way to tha
T O P

Prompt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMOakrucBME

--

Flies
516 words

The apartment was a one-bedroom walk-up in a pre-war building three blocks from the park. It had exposed brick, large windows, and the original crown moldings. It had an in-unit washer and dryer. It even had an unnaturally pleasant set of neighbors, bright-eyed people who smiled and waved as she smoked on the front stoop, waiting for the super to let her into the unit.

She knew she wanted the apartment the moment she saw it. She signed on the spot when the super arrived and told her it was only $1,400 a month plus the deposit.

“It’s the flies,” the man explained with a sheepish look. “During the summer, they’re, well…”

She waved him off. She’d dealt with worse pests since moving to New York—cockroaches, spiders, rats. If flies were the worst of it, she’d just stock up on some bug spray.

Those first few wintery months, she hardly noticed them. There’d be the occasional buzz beneath the hiss of the radiator of the delicate carcasses along the wood-paneled window sills. Every so often, she’d swat an errant bug away while she lay on her bed reading at night. It was nothing. It was less than nothing.

January slid into February. February mutated into March. The flies were no longer content with remaining discrete but began to appear in greater numbers. She’d return to her beautiful apartment to find swarms buzzing around her kitchen trash can. She would sit in her living room to discover them crawling through the leaves of her ferns.

She tossed the flower pots and began replacing the garbage bin every day. Still, the flies remained, becoming ever more insistent. She’d open kitchen cabinets to find them crawling, wriggling through her groceries. She’d feel the unpleasant sensation of their many, tiny legs against her skin as she tried to install the air conditioner. Their incessant buzzing haunted her as she slept and as she ate and as she worked and it wasn’t long after that that she bought the spray and the glue strips. She rampaged through her apartment, poisoning the air and sullying the apartment’s many amenities with ugly, yellow strands.

But they persisted. April crept toward May and no longer did the traps keep the flies at bay. Great strips of teeming black hung from the walls and ceilings, buzzing and rattling as they struggled against the blue. The original wooden floors vanished beneath gleaming, little bodies. The windows which had once let in so much light and air, now grew dark and dense from thousands of bodies. They were in her clothes and her hair and between the sheets of her bed. Their larvae writhed in her food. They were everywhere and all-consuming.

There was only one way to save her beautiful apartment, she realized. There was only one way to purge it of this pestilence. She drew a can of bug spray from the fly-dense closet. With a shaky hand, she removed her lighter and drew it close to the spray.

If she had one regret, it was that she would not get back her deposit.

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