enemy invasion

Oh, My Dears,

The war is on. It is me vs. the lowly fruit fly. They congregate by my sink, I thwack them with a rolled up copy of the Summerworks theater festival guide. Battalions of winged insects are crushed beneath my mighty weapon, and yet there always seem to be more to replace their fallen comrades. My tactics are ineffective and yet, out of a sense of frustration and determination, I persist with my futile attack. Though they are but specks, they have me outnumbered and surrounded. I make sure to do the dishes, take out the trash, compost and recycling, thus destroying their supply lines. This seems to have no effect on fruit fly morale. The relentless barrage of tiny bugs contaminates the air like a miniature Luftwaffe, driving me to distraction. They bob and weave, landing on my drying dishes for a moment and then take off to hover in the air inches in front of my nose, taunting me.

Oh, fruit fly... I know you live on this earth for but one day, but that is one day too long for me. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the sun sets early for you and your kind. It's on.

You have been warned.