The dead fly on the bathroom floor by the vent. Where had he come from? And I remembered, this morning, turning on the heat for the first time this fall. Performing an inadvertent exit from the bowels of house inferno? Was my act of personal comfort responsible for his demise? Or was the corpse long dead from the summer or before that, and like a story of ancient tombs, removed by technology to the world of light, to human consciousness, like any newly-acquired knowledge or information.
If he had come from the vent, why had he gone there? A safe place? A potential new home? Or was he born there before being borne aloft with the heat coming on? So many mysteries. Regardless, his world had come to a close at some time. How little did he realize, in any case, that he would finish above ground, at first glimpsed by a human stranger, who then moved his body to see if he or she was alive or just a fly who had changed the course of maybe two mornings anyway.