You’re going to hate this one.
Call me Musca and pardon me but I like shit. Faeces, poo, waste, excreta - I love it in all its variations. On any day I feel particularly irritated, when buzzing around random open food spots won’t just do it, I go to my favourite spot behind the Anglican Church on T. Avenue, say what you will about church people but they have nice shit. If you go for the first service you can get it hot.
You may judge, I don’t hold it against you, you wouldn’t understand. Me and my kind face a steady race towards extinction. Most of them are classist, you see. They disparage me and my special culinary tastes like we aren’t all bottom feeding disease carriers. Like you I don’t blame them as despite what you may think most have not really had freshly done toddler doodoo what with modern water closets and covered septic tanks.
When I picked my pen I aimed to write about what ails my heart, the cause of my acedia. However I have to start at the beginning.
Of a truth I have been depressed for a while now. I’ve had a very short, almost stress-free life so far that lasted until last week - I wasn’t even this poorly when my father died last month. To you it might have been Tuesday but that’s when I died. I wish my mother was swatted before entertaining the idea of having me, then I wouldn’t feel this oain.
As I mentioned, church people shit is the best followed by babies. The only thing that comes close is the sugar-filled brown gold you get in schools. Come in any day and you’ll see (or not) my distant relatives dropping a bit of cholerae and dysentery on the open cakes in the shop. Cake goes in mouth, mouth chews, saliva sends down and the muscles do the work sending it down the shaft where I believe much work is done to very much radicalize the form of the cake so that when it comes out it’s lunch. Have you ever heard of such an inefficient system?
On the day I died I went to dine at the school adjacent to the church. I zigzagged my way through doorways, went through a few windows before locating the lode. There was a little over fifteen brethren there so there was more than enough to feast. It was a free-for-all. Sometimes I think the Creator let me have so much because he knew I wouldn’t be having any in a while.
After everything I couldn’t go very far carrying my own weight, germs and all, for long. I spotted a nice window with a corner under the shade of the zinc roof practically undisturbed at the back of a classroom and in what is possibly the worst decision in my whole month-life, chose to dwell there, for a bit.
It appeared to be a classroom, ugly and littered with the usual assortment of students whose brains had shut down for the day. The man in front of them had a particularly rotund gut covered with a dress shirt that showed where his salary went to. After awkwardly gesticulating for a while, he turned to the board and drew a few things, all delicate caricatures but nonetheless recognizable. On the one that looked like me he labelled in huge letters "HOUSEFLY".
I have been many places in the month I’ve been alive but never inside a house. It hit me there and then that I was an antithesis to my original. I had spent my life gallivanting, wandering and eating shit without one thought to the entire reason for my being. I had been living a lie. A housefly with zero reaction with his raison d’être. It shattered me beyond compare. I have alternatively wished I have my mother to curse her for my existence or crawl in her bosom and cry. I don’t know what to do.
Food has been hard for me to take in, it is hard to feast and spread disease when you’re found to be living a lie. I could find no answers anywhere so I came up with one of my own: I will take my life, flying into that light that fries one real good, must be quick. You have in your hands my final testament, make of your life what you will and dk what you you may with this.
Musca Nshi, Esq.
When I found this piece on a table at a restaurant I visited it struck some strong emotions in me I couldn’t explain. I can’t speculate exactly what the writer was trying to achieve but he has gone some ways off to do so. I have therefore kept their narrative as I found it complete with errors. My hope is they should find me if they see this.
