Hello, Fleshy-Thing-Reading-This-Story. It is me. The Fly-On-The-Wall. I speak to deliver my final thoughts and tale as I am called to The Purple Flame, for I do not know where it will take me, but I know it will deliver to me a great purpose and meaning, as it has for the other Flies-Of-The-Purple-Flame.
The nest was our home for as far back as anyone can remember. It is a vast nest. Giant windows wash the place with a dazzling mesh of colors. This, I would say, is the best part of our nest. You see, my vision is impaired, so the hypnotic array of light and hue seems softer, like a comforting fog that takes up most of my view in the nest. Fleshy-Things come into our nest as guests, only here occasionally. I think they call our nest “chrch.”
On the wall, I see Fleshy-Things sit down, stand, kneel, and do it all again (why? We Flies-On-The-Wall are content just standing here unless we need to move). When you arbitrarily decide to stand, it is often to the sound of the Mountain-That-Sings. You intone your voices along with it. It makes my body hum and vibrate (I am sad you can’t experience that feeling, as another Fly-On-The-Wall tells me that you Fleshy-Things are all inside out. I am not sure I believe them. How stupid would that be?). I do not know what you do next. You all seem to line up in front of the Leading-Fleshy-Thing, stay for a moment, then go back to sitting (to then stand and kneel a few more times before you leave our nest). Are you like our enemies, the bees, who are all in their nests mating with their queen? Is the Leading-Fleshy-Thing your queen?
The Queen-Fleshy-Thing tells you stories before and after you all mate with her. All of the same thing: “God.” Is “God” also a Fleshy-Thing? Your Queen-Fleshy-Thing never says. I wish it would tell the rest of the story. But, in a way, these stories almost do not matter. It is what it does to all the Fleshy-Things that seem to matter. You yell. You get on your knees. You shriek in words I do not know. Always met by Fleshy-Things’ adoration of the other Fleshy-Things-That-Speak-In…what is the word? “Tongues?” Does “God” make you do it? Oh, to be more than a Fly-On-The-Wall. To be part of the Fleshy-Things-Speaking-In-Tongues. I tried to join once. I wanted to know what it was like. The Queen-Fleshy-Thing led you all with songs along with the Mountain-That-Sings. I joined when your tongues were making no sense, as happens. My Wing-Tongues could add to the Music-Of-The-Mountain-That-Sings. My wings whispered my tongues in your Noise-ReceiversNoise-Recievers. But you hit me.
Were my Wing-Tongues wrong? It is ok. I guess I scared you? I wasn’t hurt. Could you imagine if I were inside out? Like the Liar-Fly said? Now, that would have surely killed me. Maybe “God” is only for the Fleshy-Things? Maybe I need to find my own “God.” Surely, a “God” is out there for a Fly-On-The-Wall like myself.
I left the nest to find my “God.” Do not worry. Us Flies-On-The-Wall are not as sentimental as you Fleshy-Things. I simply buzzed, “I am leaving you Flies-On-The-Wall to find ‘God.’” And they buzzed in response, “Have fun.”
I went out beyond the nest for the first time in my life. I actually had a reason to. This pursuit of “God” is already giving me a drive I have never had before. Outside is so much of one color: green. Such a change from the Lovely-Splashes-Of-Every-Color of the nest. Fleshy-Thing nests dot all of the green. It was at one of these Fleshy-Thing-Nests that, even from afar, I knew I found what I was looking for.
A light. A light of a color I have only seen back at the nest. My favorite color: Purple. I fly my way to the Purple in the darkness of night. This is it. I can feel it. This is my “God.” I, at last, approach and can see what “God” is for me. A Purple Flame. Its unknowable being bringing an ecstasy like “God” was compelled within me. Not just me. Other Flies-Of-The-Purple-Flame. Dancing around it like in a trance, like the Fleshy-Things. I stared into the Purple Flame. Nothing existed except the Purple Flame and us Flies-Of-The-Purple-Flame dancing in its splendor. Asking what it was or where it came from seemed insulting to the Flame. How dare I attribute my lowly fly thoughts to something so perfect? Don’t question. Just dance and exist in its light. As we danced, a sudden snap was met with a flash of light. The snap assaulted our senses, the light surrounding a Fly-Of-The-Purple-Flame. It all happened so fast. One moment, they were there, and then they were gone. Did The Purple Flame call them for some great purpose? What purpose? Who knows? Just the lucky Fly-Of-The-Purple-Flame and the Flame itself, in its dazzling, terrifying glory.
I don’t know how long I danced. Minutes? Hours? Days? It felt like both an eternity and a fleeting millisecond in time. We knew nothing but the Purple Flame, with some of us called and taken in the same crackling seeming doom of the snap and the light. I feel it. I feel the pull, like a tether to my soul (You Fleshy-Things may be surprised at that. Yes. We Flies-On-The-Wall have souls). Beyond my control, “God” erased any will, any feeling of my own. Just the tug of The Purple Flame. This is how it felt to be called to The Purple Flame. One final emotion seeps through my head and heart: Bliss. A snap, a light, and I’m gone.