A Tiny Fly

I noticed the tiniest fly I'd ever seen in my life today.  I suppose it was a fly; it had wings and landed on my computer like one, but it was so small I could hardly see it.  It seemed to have actually made a decision to land on my keyboard, but how?  I can't imagine it had a brain.  Something else, a remote control?  I'm talking about a speck of a fly the size of the tip of a pin.  The tip!

I usually don't care much about insects, but this one was exceptional, almost like a dimensional shift from some other realm.  I guess I assumed it was innocent and had no potential to infect or invade my skin, but I may have been wrong.  An oversized six- or eight-legged creature whose exoskeleton crunches when swatted or whose guts spurt out when flattened is, I automatically assume, intensely poisonous and horrible.  But, I really don't know.  I don't get very far beyond the initial blood-curdling scream and subsequent assault with weapons of mass destruction.

My squeamishness about slithering, creeping and jittering insects who dart suddenly from crevices and cracks has never abated in my whole entire life.  They look different, creepy.  Kill them, I say.

And yet I believe that all living things make up a complex and interrelated web of life.  It's my prerogative to annihilate the few that come into my house.  The rest I leave alone.  Obviously not quite a Buddhist, I try to tolerate most living things.  But not spiders, ever.  Apologies to readers who enjoy spiders for some completely unfathomable reason.  Consciously, I know spiders eat species known to be annoying to people - like flies for instance - but my subconscious says no way, kill it, ruin it, smash it to bits.

The infinitesimally small fly I saw today survived me because it was such a curiosity, being so small and capable of doing everything fly, possibly without any brain whatsoever.  Quite a strategy.  I think the military could adopt this somehow, don't you?