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Short Story

The Day of the Bluebottle

Kevin Brooks confesses to insecticide.

I killed a fly today and I’ve been feeling guilty about it ever since. I was relaxing, stretched out on the sofa enjoying the peace and quiet of a weekday afternoon, shoes and socks off, favourite baggy shorts on, shirt unbuttoned and engrossed in a rattling good paperback serial killer yarn. Pure bliss. The fly didn’t bother me at first. It was a bluebottle, one of those big fat ones that buzz around the room with a big fat buzz and crash into windows with a resounding clack.