It's a very short story/poem about a person and a fly.
It is not easily that I admit that I consider myself as unimportant as a fly. Not because I am lonely, no. Nor because I have been lately musing about death. No, indeed it was a quick encounter with a fly what inspired the change in my self-worth. This fly seemed to be holding a mirror, for I saw myself in it, and saw it in me.
It assaulted me in my front patio. It came a-buzzing from wherever and up to my ear. It was deafening. Naturally, I waved it away. It dodged my hand and came back a moment later, in which I waved it away again. And as simply as that, it was gone, never to bother or delight me again. It has been impossible for me to forget about it. And, indeed, there lies the rub. You see, in the kaleidoscopic perspective of the fly, I am a measly creature, deserving of contempt, inept enough to futilely flail at it in an attempt scare it away. Scare away? I could never lay a finger on that insect. That fly, I am sure, forgot about me as soon as I left its vision. On to more important matters it went. That fly has a life in which I was but a passerby.