Frank Shapiro
Enter a world like no other, where common houseflies are not so common, and a bold few undertake to change the world in a way that will surprise and delight you. Victor, the story’s hero, must come to terms with evil and good, individuality and community, love and loss, the Great Fly, and ultimately, himself.
Victor progresses from young innocent to student, from soldier to philosopher. Mentored by Michael, leader of the New Way, he becomes a Rescue Force volunteer. Saving the lives of flies imperiled by humans, he establishes a reputation that exceeds all before him.
But the New Way loses its influence, the leaders die off, and Victor is faced with two crushing losses that destroy his faith in the Great Fly. In the midst of personal crisis, he meets Pamela, who helps to restore his will to live. Together they find the passion and zest that love inspires before a climactic rescue that brings Victor face-to-face with his own death.
Frank Shapiro is a psychotherapist, writer, and editor who lives in Los Angeles. He is a member of the American Psychotherapy Association, the California Association of Marriage and Family Therapists, the International Sports Sciences Association, and the Autism Society of America. He is a marathon runner and the father of two teenage children.
Shapiro attended the University of California at Santa Cruz, graduating in 1981. He studied abroad at St. Andrews University in Scotland and did graduate work in journalism at New York University before receiving his Master’s degree in clinical psychology from Antioch University in 1993.
He sees his fiction as a means to inspire young people as well as the young person in all adults. He admires books that can be read in a single sitting and attempts to achieve that in his work, operating under the premise that "less is more."
Visit his website at
www.EvolveYourSelf.com.
A
wareness came in a pulsating, panicky way. A charge energized him, vaulting him forward. He slammed against something hard, recovered, flew briefly, slammed into something again, then again and again and again. He buzzed crazily, blindly in the dark until suddenly there was nothing to crash into, and in a flash of white light he could see.
His heartbeat steadied. He soared past the large metal trash bin that had been his birthplace into the great wide open.
He worked hard using his short supporting back wings -- halteres -- to gain balance. The world around him was amazing and vast, filled with vivid colors and a multitude of shapes.
Ahead he saw a yellow rose bush in full bloom. There was a carpet of grass below and an endless blue sky above. He landed on a leaf of the rose bush, stopped his wings, and caught his breath.
The leaf was damp and he lowered his tongue-like ovipositor and lapped up some of the liquid. It soothed him. Below, surrounding the gnarled trunk of the bush, was a large puddle of brown water. Dropping beside it, he drank heartily. It was a wonderful liquid, cool, clean and refreshing.
He lifted his head. His reflection in the water stared back at him: huge, red-brown eyes, a checkerboard of individual facets; six spindly legs; two large transparent wings supported below by the two smaller halteres; a shiny green thorax and a copper abdomen; all but the wings covered with various sized stiff hairs, shorter on the head and legs, longer on the body.
He was Musca domestica, a housefly.
Several like-looking creatures zoomed past.
He rose off the dirt by the puddle and followed. They sailed across yards, over bushes and walls, then dropped down. It was fun, soaring along like this. The young fly stopped and landed on a high wooden fence and watched.
A large dog, a Great Dane, stood off in the yard, kicking his hind legs out. It was full grown, skin and bones, each separate rib visible under his mottled gray skin. Its little pink rump, raised to the sky, twitched.
The other flies had settled down onto the grass. They didn't fear the dog. The young fly approached.
It was a thing of beauty and smelled so delectable the young fly's mouth watered. More than eight inches long and over an inch thick, curled slightly, it was brown-black and glistening in the afternoon sun. The young fly descended. The other flies took no special notice of him as they gorged themselves. There was plenty to go around. Traction was easy on the sticky surface. The young fly imitated the others, dropping his ovipositor, lapping the tasty food.
"This is good. This is very good," remarked one of the flies, mouth stuffed.
"Ha! Fresh from the oven," joked the largest of the group.
Suddenly, there was a voice from overhead.
"Hey, fellow flies! Take heed. Remove yourselves from there!"
The flies looked up. The voice belonged to a lone fly who had attached himself to the nearby wood fence.
"Don't eat the foul waste of other creatures," he continued. "Respect yourselves. The future of flies!"
"Oh, Michael, buzz off!" called the large fly, rolling his eyes. "Ha!"
"Yeah, take your nonsense out of here, Michael," added another.
"Who is that?" the young fly asked.
"Michael," answered the fly closest to him. "He's crazy. A cultist. The New Way. Believes in all sorts of ridiculous things. Don't eat defecation, love your mate, care about your maggots, evolve the species. Ever heard such silliness?"
"Flies will only get the respect they earn, " the fly named Michael said.
The young fly looked at this rebel who looked back. He was a handsome fly, and there was something different and interesting about him. But the young fly didn't understand what he was talking about and kept eating. His new companions dismissed Michael, continuing to feast.
"You, young fly," Michael called to him. "Come with me. Don't start your life this way, besmirched in excrement!"
"Get out of here, Michael," retorted the biggest fly. "Leave our young friend alone. Ha! We found him first."
The young fly looked back once more at Michael and met his eyes. Michael stared at him a moment, waited, then shook his head with disappointment and flew off.
"Moron," said the biggest fly with disgust, returning to the banquet.
"That M-M-Michael can fly, though," said one of the others, a small scraggily fly. "He's the f-f-fastest fly I've ever seen. And he saves l-l-lives."
"His so-called Rescue Force?" said the biggest fly disdainfully. "Ha! It's absurd. Saving flies from humans! Whoever heard of such a ridiculous thing? Everyone knows it's every fly for himself."
"You were smart to stay with us," said one of the others. "We have fun, cook up all sorts of mischief. We do as we please."
"It's true, kid," said another. "Hey, what's your name, anyway?"
"Name?" the young fly asked.
"Yeah, name. Who the Great Fly are you?"
"I--I don't know."
"He's a newborn," said the biggest fly. "He doesn't have one yet. Ha! Welcome to life, kid."
