There's something bugging me and it needs to fly

I swear they’re doing it just to spite me. They know it’ll drive me mad. One more insult. There is nothing more galling than two — no wait there’s another one — THREE FLIES at it hammer on tongs in the corner of the telly screen as you’re trying to catch up on episodes of a dark psychological Victorian thriller.

I thought first it was part of the director’s motif to show the decay of the criminal mind and society, but no, it was our motif. The decay is in our own house.

It’s personal now and I’ve started to lose my reason. Sometimes I forget to pull the net curtains and the neighbourhood is treated to the sight of me waving some sort of fly-killing weapon as the flies land deliberately on things I can’t flake like mugs or loved ones.