You came to the wrong neighbourhood!

Image this. It's two in the morning and something around 30 degrees outside (or 90-ish degrees if you are using the wrong system). You try to sleep but it's not going pretty well and then you feel it.

A fly has landed on your face.

You flail your arms and try to get rid of it but a minute later it's on your arm or just hovering above you making that annoying buzzing sound. You get up but since it's night you see nothing so you try to use echo location but you realize you are not a submarine and declare defeat and try to sleep again.

Some time later the same episode repeats and your calm-o-meter is getting lower and lower and just as you are about to lose your shit it's morning and you discuss it with your wife during breakfast.

The very next night the same thing happens and you start losing your patients at a quicker rate than last night. This time you move the curtains to the side in hope that the lights from outside will attract this jackass and you finally get rid of it.

Not gonna happen mister!

Now you are determined. You will get this flying booger no matter what. You get out of bad and start the chase. From the bedroom to the living room to the dining room and back. You can feel how your sense of hearing is improving with every step and you are zoning in and you are ready for the kill. 

But the damn thing escaped once again and with nothing to show for you return to bed and call it a night.

Day three. You finish a 13K run in well over 30 degrees and probably even more in the sun (Americans, do the calculations yourself this time) and on entering the living room it lands directly on your face again. 

This time you are going down!!!

Since it's six in the afternoon you can't hide in the dark, you glorified mosquito. Hope you had a great life because your days are numbered.

You take of your wet T-shirt and lower yourself down into a crouch. You want to be able to jump the very second you spot the enemy. The level of focus in your face makes Rambo look like a bored teenager who is working at the McDonald's drive through. 

There it is. On the bookshelf. You start twisting your shirt in order to make a whip-like weapon of it and with a smooth but determined motion you fling your shirt in the direction of the fly and after a second you spot it on the floor. 

Legs still moving slowly but deep inside the creature knows it's over.

You pick it up give it a Clint Eastwood stare and take it to the window while still debating with yourself if you as the hunter-gatherer should present your pray to your wife when she comes home. In the end you decide against it and just toss it down while still following it's descent to the grass. 

No sign. No ceremony. Nothing.

No one will remember the fly and it's brave quest against humanity but yourself. It's been a long three days but in the end muscle wins.

If any other fly tries to give me a hard time, I have one message for you - you came to the wrong neighbourhood.