Spinny Spin

May 19, 2023
4 min read

by Bill Gusky

It’s Spit’s turn.

She zips over to a dusty web dangling from the peaky ceiling and, with a winsome glance at Holk, brushes her hairy butt against it until it sticks.

Now she’s a tether fly. When she zooms, the web keeps her going in circles. She speeds up until the entire peaky ceiling buzzes.

Slow down! You’re making me nauseous!

That’s Holk, upside-down on the peaky ceiling, trying to follow Spit’s beautiful zooming face.

I won’t I won’t I won’t she giggles. She maxes her buzzer until all Holk can see of her is a beautiful blurry love ring of red and green, and then the web snaps — PTTNGGG! And Spit sails off into the darkness.

Serves you right! Holk says. I told you to slow down.

FLONKALONK! The unmistakable sound of Spit hitting window glass. And the silence after.

Spi-i-i-t! he calls. You there?

Hey Spit! Answer me!

All he hears is the breathing of the house.

In his teeny tiny housefly heart, Holk knows why.

He sighs.

Poor Spit, he says. Here one minute. Gone the next.

Sadness rumples his prickly hairs.

Holk recalls meeting Spit in the sheep shed. The smile of her big hairy face.

His rubber-ball eyes turn blue.

Holk remembers the way Spit would sneak up on him wearing a mask of poop. She’d scare him, then they’d both devour the poop mask.

Holk’s wings droop.

He remembers her bashful squat, while squirting eggs into a sore on a sheep’s rump. Her expression that said You shouldn’t be watching, but I’m glad you are.

Holk’s hairy tongue hangs low.

What’s the meaning of it all? he cries, through drenching sadness. We eat. We make love. We die. And for what? Every magnificent memory evaporates, like sheep wee in the sun.

MEANING IS DISCOVERED MOMENT BY MOMENT.

It’s a booming voice Holk hasn’t heard before.

He springs about, twirling his head every which-way.

Who’s talking to me?

I AM THE ALL.

The all what?

THE ALL THAT IS ALL. I KNOW ALL. SEE ALL. I AM THE ALL.

Aren’t you something, Mister The All, Holk says. If you’re such a big deal, why can’t I see you?

I AM EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE.

— Who ya talking to?

It’s Spit again, standing next to Holk on the peaky ceiling. He leaps with surprise, nearly hits the floor, then zooms back and lands next to Spit.

You’re alive! Holk says, noticing a dent in one of Spit’s eyes. I thought banging into that window ended you for sure.

Nope, Spit says. Just hurt a bunch, that’s all. But not no more. Who were ya talking to?

He calls himself Mister The All, Holk says. Says he sees and knows everything.

He rubs his forelegs together and says Hey Mister The All, if you see and know all, what am I doing now?

RUBBING.

Holk puts his left legs out into the air. What now?

STRETCHING.

I’m thinking of a number between one and —

SEVEN.

Holk forgot the number, but suspects seven was close enough.

Spit says, Your turn now. Play Spinny Spin.

Holk is baffled. I’m talking to The All. This is important. I need to know what I should do with my life.

Spit giggles, Play Spinny Spin.

You’re not listening, Holk says. We need to use our time wisely. Kindly. I could be guarding eggs. I could be adopting orphan maggots.

Play Spinny Spin! Play Spinny Spin!

Helping old flies clean themselves. Giving the dead on windowsills a proper burial.

PLAY SPINNY SPIN.

Holk’s wings shudder.

Seriously, Mister The All? Holk says. That’s all you want me to do?

PLAY SPINNY SPIN.

You don’t want me to help the poor, or — ”

PLAY SPINNY SPIN.

Holk shrugs.

Fine, I’ll play Spinny Spin.

He zooms up to another dusty dangling web, brushes his butt on it, and begins zooming in wide, lazy circles.

Like this? he says. Am I doing it right?

FASTER.

If you say so, Holk says. He revs his wings until the room is a zooming blur.

Faster faster faster! Spit giggles.

FASTER Mister The All says.

Holk revs his wings until the buzz screams through his entire body.

He feels giddy. Laughs as he whizzes past Spit again and again so fast she’s a whistle of love, then a blink of love and, finally, a star of love, winking on and off faster and faster, until Spit and Holk are not on the peaky ceiling anymore.

They’re flying off together to the barn. Holding hands as they plunge their faces into a poop pile. Making sweet, passionate love on the juicy, infected ear of a barnyard dog. She’s squirting eggs onto a rotting mouse. The eggs are hatching. The little maggots —

GOTCHA.

What? Holk says.

He’s not watching maggots hatch anymore.

Not playing Spinny Spin.

I SAID ‘GOTCHA.’

Is that you, Mister The All? Holk feels a tight embrace.

I AM THE ALL, the booming voice laughs.

There’s a swishing sound as a tight cover surrounds Holk.

Hey, Spit! What’s happening to me?

Gotta go, Spit says. Her muffled buzz fades away.

What’s happening, Mister The All? Holk says.

As if in answer two cold points punch through Holk’s body, and a zesty ooze fills his insides.

I feel strange, Holk says. Like I’m being filled with tiny fires. Is this what it’s like to become a part of you, Mister The All? Will I see and know everything like you do?

YOU TALK TOO MUCH, Mister The All says.

Holk’s insides shrink. It’s a warm, cuddly feeling that rises into his head, into his eyes.

And now he sees a million tiny sparks, all flying around. All playing Spinny Spin.

He gasps, and says, This is what it’s like to..!

This is what it’s like..!

This is what it’s..!

This is what..!

This is..!

This..!

Bill Gusky writes short stories, novellas, screenplays, and other fictions. His stories have appeared in Dark Matter Magazine, Feathertale Journal, and MadCap Review. He was a finalist in the J.F. Powers Prize for Short Fiction and the Barry Hannah Prize in Fiction. His writing has also appeared in award-winning educational and entertainment games released under license from Mattel, Warner Bros, and Universal, and in promotions for shows distributed by public broadcasting organizations APT, PBS, and NPR. Learn more about Bill Gusky on his IMDb page: www.imdb.com/name/nm3738674 and his fine art website: billguskyart.com.