Mark's Puppet, Ryan, slowly flew above the ground, feeling at peace. He was a fly. Flies were carefree creatures, indeed. They were better than his main body. Yes, they would die with a sneeze of his, but did they care?
No.
Flies were amazing at not giving a fuck.
Suffering, Misfortune, Enemies? Nothing would make them give a shit. They'd still loiter around, buzz near sleeping ears, and sit on top of excrement as usual. And now, he felt exactly like them.
I am a fly, Ryan thought. But I look more like a mini human with white wings than a fly. Sad. Should have made the main body make me a true fly. Then I could just not care, maybe.
And sad. I have the cognitive features of an average human, too.
How cursed were creatures with sentience to be born?
If they were not born, they wouldn't have to think about anything. It is all because of their birth that they have to go through the pain of death. Why were we born, if only to die?
