The fly and the coffee

by Lorenzo Piccoli


Subtitle: a philosophical tale on a pointless insect’s struggle to death

A fly drowned in my coffee four hours ago.

You should know that there are many flies in my room in these days: it must be something related to the temperature, I don’t know. You should also know that I always hated flies, regardless this situation. Think about this simple fact: you can justify the existence of other animals, cows, sheep, even snakes. You can always attach some sort of sense to these animals’ presence in our universe. This is an impossible task when it gets to flies: they are pointless living beings whose existence is not related to any meaning at all. I always wish the worst would happen to these miserable insects.

And then today I find this one fly drowning in my coffee and I still cannot help but feeling some kind of pity. After all, drowning is such a terrible way to die. Drowning in the coffee must be even worse. Still: after a brief moment of contempt, I honestly forget about the fly, and the coffee. I just leave it where it is, in my mug, in my room, near the laptop. I get back four hours later, and the fly is still alive. Agonizing, this is for sure, but still trying to get a way out from the coffee. And I realize how mind-blowing it could be to think that the pointless living being has been struggling to death for four hours just trying to hold on to its pointless existence.

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