Flies On The Wall
Flies, Dear Reader, are abundant within the realms of Hell. They are a subspecies of Imps and love nothing more than to annoy and buzz humans upon Earth. Because of how prevalent they are, it’s easy to infiltrate Hell for spying. Who would volunteer to become a fly spy you ask? Not one Angel in their right mind would happily take on such a mission. They value their sparkly halos, pristine white feathered wings, and immaculately tailored white suits. This sad job is relegated to Angels who have strayed, gotten their halo a bit, shall we say dented and/or bent.1One could compare these angels who quite haven’t fallen (there hasn’t been one in millennia and we all know who that was) to the rogue Daemons. God doesn’t approve of the comparison because none of his angels have gone that far. Plus, it would be like comparing Himself to Satan. It’s just not done. God’s words, Dear Reader, not mine.
Unfortunately for Babs,2Babs has a serious addiction to pink flamingo feathers. This job was her last chance to make amends for going out of regulation 3550 which covers the angelic uniform requirements. Angels are expected to be dressed in white (except for Halos which may be white, silver, or gold with respect to their angelic ranking). Pink is simply not done. Babs was caught snorting beta carotene-rich larvae dust and prancing about Heaven with pink frilly underpants. The underpants were her downfall. They made her bottom quite lumpy and of course, you could see the color through her white pants. Babs did not have the brightest halo in the bunch this is where she found herself, sitting on a wall observing the hatching of a devilish plan by a closet full of Daemons to infiltrate Heaven.
A Daemon, who liked to collect fly wings, spotted Babs and lumbered over as quietly as 8 feet of walking bricks can be in an attempt to snatch her up. Babs, having been accosted before by this particular Daemon (she called him Brickhauz but his real name is Allen) wiggled her way between knobby knees and etiolated3This word means to become blanched like something grown without sunlight. Some Daemon elbows could also be described as the texture of a naked mole-rat, parasitic wasp larvae, or even human toes steeped in warm water until they become white and rubbery.elbows to a safer less conspicuous spot on the wall. Babs was in a pickle, a juicy raisin of a pickle in a jar packed with pickle eating Daemons. She needed to report this to her superiors in Heaven immediately. In order to accomplish this task, she had to get from her current spot on the wall to the door without causing a brouhaha of snapping, toothsome, pawing Daemons giving chase. Babs realized that THAT was exactly what she needed to do.
Babs sashayed her way along the wall until she had a good bee-line (fly-line) to Brickhauz’s (Allen’s) eye. She launched herself like a raisin flies from the mouth after being dislodged by the Heimlich maneuver. Dear Reader, as planned, a few Daemon’s noticed and the snapping, toothsome, and pawing brouhaha to catch her began. Babs, proud of her flying skills got a wee bit cocky. She didn’t see Allen’s maw until it was too late. She flew straight into his uvula. Daemon uvulas are not smooth like a human’s. They are coated with a sticky substance that surprisingly smells like lilacs. Babs wiggled, buzzed, and struggled mightily to become unstuck from this strangely pleasant-smelling flesh blob to no avail. Allen, who developed a sudden cough, reached in and carefully removed Babs, much to his surprise and delight. I’ll spare you the details, Dear Reader, but suffice to say, Heaven was not notified of the Deamons’s plans. Poor Babs became wingless and spent the rest of her days in a tiny jar with other wingless flies until a Daemon had a hankering for raisins4Dear reader, it was brought to my attention that the untimely unfortunate demise of Babs was not well received by the author’s mother and daughter. There was a petition to have this section rewritten and revised. However, a good author knows that some characters must be sacrificed for the greater good of the story. Babs, may you rest in digested peace. Perhaps there will be a new tell-all expose’ about your life called The Life & Sordid Times of a Dented Angel.
No one knows, rather, no one will tell us, Dear Reader, exactly how a few of those Daemons got out of the closet. Fred and George, upon hearing the brouhaha opened the door to investigate. It is assumed that this is when a few Daemon’s slipped out. Fred and George deny anyone or anything getting by them. Unfortunately, Fred and George had to be punished with an eternity and a half of having their toes tickled with furry purring kittens.5You may remember that Daemons can’t stand purring kittens. They also go quite mad when their toes are tickled. A Daemon whose toes are tickled can’t laugh because they simply do not know how to do so. Instead, their eyes bulge and pop out. Can you imagine the literal hell of having to maneuver your body to find wherever your eyes landed so you can plop them back in? Over and over and over again while listening to the maddening purr of a kitten.