Bug Off
After spending the next ten minutes freaking out, understandably so, Aaron forced himself to calm down and attempt to think rationally. A pathetic stream of "Why me?" wasn't going to do a hell of a lot to get him out of his weird fix. He stopped hovering inches off the floor and landed on one of his own shoes.
"Dad," he thought to himself. "I've got to get back to Dad. He can help me."
He didn't know how Dad would help him, but he pushed aside some nagging doubts in the interest of undertaking his next course of action one step at a time.
About that time, he began to notice a powerful whiff of gag-worthy odor. "What's that awful smell?"
An instant later, the teen-turned-fly realized the odor was wafting from the interior of his shoe. "They reek!"
His fly senses experienced the odor even more powerfully and, to Aaron's dismay, the fly found the odor more appealing than repellent. He needed to resist the fly's instinct to crawl inside the shoe and investigate the source of the powerful stench.
As he struggled with the fly's instincts, he began to realize that the change had locked him into some strange synthesis with the insect mind. He would have to keep alert in order to retain control of the situation. Figuring there was no time to waste, he put his wings to use, flew out of the monolithic door of the campground bathrooms, and followed the trail back toward his campsite.
The outside world with its tree-sized weeds and its impossible-looking trees, as well as other strange sounds, sights, and smells, left the tiny creature anxious and jumpy. Ignoring the desire to stop and marvel at the giant world, he focused on flying back to camp. As he got closer, the yellow and white tent loomed bigger and bigger.
Not used to flying, the journey tired him. Before tackling the tent and his gigantic father, the tiny fly-boy took a rest break, landing near last night's fire pit. He still felt the warmth of the doused fire from the nearby stone walls of the pit. The warm stones felt good. He started to crawl around the edge of the pit when his feet encountered something sticky.
"What the...?" Aaron tried to lift his front legs, but they wouldn't budge. He twitched his wings to take flight, but all six legs appeared mired in a thick, sticky goop, effectively grounding him.
He examined more closely and realized he had walked onto a wide plastic strip. "It's one of Dad's sticky traps!" Aaron exclaimed. His father must have laid one of the traps on the edge of the fire pit and forgotten it. Now, without even realizing it, Aaron had blundered like a mindless bug onto the simple but effective snare.
He continued to squirm. "No! No! Help me!"
He heard a loud noise at the white and yellow tent flap was thrown back as his monstrous Dad emerged.
"Dad," he thought to himself. "I've got to get back to Dad. He can help me."
He didn't know how Dad would help him, but he pushed aside some nagging doubts in the interest of undertaking his next course of action one step at a time.
About that time, he began to notice a powerful whiff of gag-worthy odor. "What's that awful smell?"
An instant later, the teen-turned-fly realized the odor was wafting from the interior of his shoe. "They reek!"
His fly senses experienced the odor even more powerfully and, to Aaron's dismay, the fly found the odor more appealing than repellent. He needed to resist the fly's instinct to crawl inside the shoe and investigate the source of the powerful stench.
As he struggled with the fly's instincts, he began to realize that the change had locked him into some strange synthesis with the insect mind. He would have to keep alert in order to retain control of the situation. Figuring there was no time to waste, he put his wings to use, flew out of the monolithic door of the campground bathrooms, and followed the trail back toward his campsite.
The outside world with its tree-sized weeds and its impossible-looking trees, as well as other strange sounds, sights, and smells, left the tiny creature anxious and jumpy. Ignoring the desire to stop and marvel at the giant world, he focused on flying back to camp. As he got closer, the yellow and white tent loomed bigger and bigger.
Not used to flying, the journey tired him. Before tackling the tent and his gigantic father, the tiny fly-boy took a rest break, landing near last night's fire pit. He still felt the warmth of the doused fire from the nearby stone walls of the pit. The warm stones felt good. He started to crawl around the edge of the pit when his feet encountered something sticky.
"What the...?" Aaron tried to lift his front legs, but they wouldn't budge. He twitched his wings to take flight, but all six legs appeared mired in a thick, sticky goop, effectively grounding him.
He examined more closely and realized he had walked onto a wide plastic strip. "It's one of Dad's sticky traps!" Aaron exclaimed. His father must have laid one of the traps on the edge of the fire pit and forgotten it. Now, without even realizing it, Aaron had blundered like a mindless bug onto the simple but effective snare.
He continued to squirm. "No! No! Help me!"
He heard a loud noise at the white and yellow tent flap was thrown back as his monstrous Dad emerged.