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?
