There was Sinthia, plain as day, instantly recognizable. Only she wasn't a fly like the rest of us. She was a big, ugly, black, deadly, mean-looking, hungry-looking spider! And she was finishing up a dense, glistening, and lethal web across the doorway, our only means of escape!
Just then the two mountainous white blobs started rumbling and moving, flailing redwood-sized appendages around. The lake we had flown over began to swirl and swirl, and acres of great white sheets flapped over a waterfall that had just appeared. Of course, we as former humans knew exactly what these things were, but the knowledge didn't dispel the panic that raced through the theatre-goers, from the orchestra to the flyspace.
Everyone took flight at once. Some flew directly at Sinthia's web, apparently thinking they could blast right through it. Wrong! With a blood-curdling screech and blinding speed she tore over to her trapped victims, tightening their sticky bonds and biting off a head or two in the process. Totally gruesome! Other fly folk, seeing the carnage by the door, made a beeline for the vent. A good idea, except that the two human actors had turned on the exhaust fan, and hapless audience members were sucked in and hacked to bits. Still others, confused by their transformation and circumstance, crashed frantically into the field-sized mirror. This seemed to annoy the actors and they swatted at the would-be escapees. Fortunately the human arms moved at geologic rates and all but one fly escaped. Unfortunately, the typhoon whipped up by the human arms blew a few into the waiting clutches of Sinthia, who had a second course in her feast of fly flesh.
"What the hell are we going to do?" cried Andrew, "She's got us trapped!"
"How the hell should I know?" I replied, "She's your partner!"
"Shut up and look!" cried Mandy. "The humans are getting ready to leave!"
Yes! They'd have to destroy the web to exit the bathroom! I wondered if they even knew what was going on.
"If we fly real low we can slip under Sinthia's web when they break through. It'll be dangerous, we might get stepped on or swatted when the humans walk into the sticky silk. You know how they get!" reminded Mandy. Gees! They? We were they just a little while ago...my flygirl was really getting into this!
Sure enough, when the actors hit the web they began to contort wildly. Silly humans! They must outweigh Sinthia a million to one, but they react like crazy people from a little sticky silk. Too bad they didn't squash our arachnoid archenemy; she was right there scooping up the stragglers who were trying to sneak out with the actors. Few made it. Sinthia's broken strands whipped around madly in the human-made windstorm and caught the high-fliers just long enough for her to reach them and wrap them up for a later snack. How could she eat so many of us? I wondered. A 'most fulfilling performance' indeed!
The few who weren't captured by web silk were swatted to oblivion by flailing arms. They may be slow, but if a human connects the force of getting whacked was lethal for us. Buzzing low and quiet we three fairly crept out on the floor next to the left doorjamb. I watched two other flies who were trying our trick get flattened by a ship-sized shoe. Poor folks! But I was too busy escaping to mourn them, and my fly attention span wasn't all that long.
Amazingly, we got through to the hallway and instantly soared high into the air, heading for the kitchen, finding the smell of food scraps there irresistible. Andrew, Mandy and I were apparently the only ones to escape the horror, unscathed but still insects. We landed near a geyser of delicious scents and, free from danger, we got back to work and began noshing. "How long will this potion last?" I asked the playwright, hoping that he might have a clue as to our fate.
"I have no idea. I haven't known Sinthia too long, and she never let on that this was her real plan."
Our situation was dire: we might remain flies for the rest of our now very short lives. Yikes! But then again, on the other hand, the spell might end at any moment, and we would lose all the advantages of flyhood: free food, no rent, no responsibilities and a world of delicious fragrances. Like I said, my attention span wasn't what it used to be. Our condition gave us pause as we gnawed on some scraps in the trash. What to do next?
"Hey," said my flygirl after a few minutes, "I just remembered. There's a new Nigerian performance artist doing a show in SoHo. If it's anything like the Ofili Virgin of a few years ago at the Brooklyn Museum, it'll be right up our alley."
"I know it," replied Andrew, all abuzz, "Let's fly! Maybe we can hitch a ride on a southbound NYDoS garbage truck. It'll be dead-heading back from the landfill at Goshen, passing south of here."
Who am I to question? I thought, getting into the spirit of the situation. It'll probably be the first obscure drama Mandy has dragged me to that I might actually eat up!