The-source-dot-com-dot-au

Abstract

Blowfeld killed three blowflies with his underpants. He had stepped out of them, ready to have a shower, when he saw the flies on the bathroom window. After he'd belted them, their bodies dropped into the empty bath, horrible indictments on the white porcelain. He grimaced, sluiced them down the drain, and stepped into the shower. Three more flew through the steam, and landed on his shoulder. Where had the bastards come from?This was the second day. He had to find the source. And the cat . . . where was Wagner? What had the bastards done with Wagner?The number of kills mounted fast. It was a hot day, and the air conditioner was droning, but the sun had gone off the casement windows in the lounge, so he pulled back the curtains to let in the light. A long line of ants dodged each other as they scurried along the windowsills between the mounds of dead blowies.Wagner, black with a seething mass of them, lay on the floor. Blowfeld slumped onto the couch and looked out the window. A wattlebird trumpeted and flew out of the bottlebrush at the edge of the front verandah. He wished he were a fucking bird. A man was lucky his wife was dead. Always complained about his swearing and the skid marks in his undies. She would have panicked and added to his woes if she were there.