Angel

Jim slowly moved his head over. There was warmth. He moved a bit more. Holy Shit! feathers! He leaped out of bed and turned on the light. He saw a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde, smiling up at him. But feathers?

The Fly

This entry is part of the series The Fly


The waiter brought my coffee and soup. I put a package of equal, and two creams, in the coffee and stirred. I unfolded my napkin, and laid it across my lap. I picked up my soup spoon and stopped. There was a fly in my soup.
“Waiter, waiter.”