Fly

A drunk college student watches a fly crawl into an almost-empty bottle of red wine sitting on a coffee table in the living room of a shared suite. He leans forward and corks the bottle, trapping the fly inside. The fly buzzes wildly, bouncing its body off the glass with a soft, repeated plink. The student watches and listens for a while — thinking about whether or not insects feel pain, whether or not alcohol dulls that pain, the human capacity for cruelty and the rationalization thereof, how much oxygen insects expend with each breath, about how many cubic centimeters of oxygen might be in the bottle — before passing out on the couch.

An hour goes by and the student wakes up. One of his roommates has returned from a party, and stands by the table, draining the remains of the bottle, fly and all, into his mouth.

(Previously.)