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A Wingbeat Between You and the Truth


When the smallest thing refuses to leave you alone

The First Sound
It started with a single buzz. Not loud enough to drown out thought, but perfectly pitched to sit in the center of it. A sound too precise to ignore. It wasn’t even constant; it came in little bursts, just long enough to remind you it was still there, then disappearing so you could think you were free, until it returned exactly when your mind began to wander.

You told yourself it was nothing. A fly, just a fly. But deep down, you knew the sound wasn’t only in the room.


The Thing That Refused to Be Caught
You tried the usual tactics. A quick swipe of the hand. Waiting still until it landed. The rolled-up paper, the silent stalk across the room. Every time, it was a step ahead. Not faster, just better at knowing when you’d commit.

The game went on longer than you wanted to admit. At some point, you weren’t sure whether you were chasing it or it was chasing you.


When the Buzz Moved Inside
The change wasn’t announced. You simply noticed the air was no longer the source. The sound had nested somewhere closer, somewhere under the skin. Not in your ears exactly, but in the place where your pulse pressed hardest. The fly became a rhythm you couldn’t shake, a beat between sentences, a tiny drum between your thoughts.

It followed you into the kitchen. Into the hall. Into the bathroom, where it shouldn’t have mattered at all. The fact it stayed meant it wasn’t just noise.

*Some links in this post may support my work. See full disclosure at the end.*


Sometimes opening the window means opening yourself, and learning what to do with what flies in . A lesson I once found beautifully explored in Radical Acceptance.


The Wrong Kind of Silence
Then, one night, the buzzing stopped. Not in the gradual way things fade. It was gone all at once, like a door slamming in a soundless room.

Most people would have felt relief. You felt absence, sharp and hollow. The air was too still, too complete. Every movement of your own body was suddenly loud, the scrape of a chair, the rub of your palm against your sleeve. Without the buzz, the silence had nowhere to hide.

That was when you understood it had been holding something back.


The Moment of Landing
When you saw it again, it wasn’t flying. It was still. Perched on the edge of a windowsill, perfectly within reach. You could have ended it. All the hours of irritation, the missed swipes, the tiny humiliations of being bested by a creature with a brain the size of dust could be erased in a second.

You didn’t move.

Because in that pause, you noticed something else. The wings weren’t trembling. The body was angled toward the glass. It wasn’t watching you. It was watching the outside.

And in the reflection, you saw yourself.


The Truth You Didn’t Want
It had never been about the fly. It had been about what it carried, a truth you didn’t want to hear, disguised in a body too small to seem threatening.

Every evasion, every near miss, had been buying you time. But time for what? You weren’t preparing to catch it. You were preparing to listen to what you’d been avoiding.

The buzz wasn’t random. It had a pattern. The same way a thought you keep pushing down finds new disguises to sneak back into your mind.

You’d mistaken the messenger for the message.


The Release
You opened the window. The fly hesitated. Or maybe you did. Then it left, a clean, unhurried departure, disappearing into air that no longer seemed as heavy.

The room felt lighter, but you knew it wasn’t because of the insect. It was because something in you had shifted. You’d stopped treating the thing that haunted you as an enemy to crush and started seeing it as a truth to face.

You could have killed it. You didn’t. That choice mattered more than you thought.


What Remains in the Air
Days later, you still heard phantom traces of the buzz. Not enough to distract, but enough to remember. That sound now carried something else, a reminder that some annoyances aren’t obstacles. They are signals. Some interruptions aren’t meant to stop you. They are meant to turn you toward something you’ve been pretending isn’t there.

The truth doesn’t always arrive in grand speeches or dramatic events. Sometimes it comes with wings. Sometimes it hovers. Sometimes it dares you to try and catch it, knowing you won’t, because deep down, you don’t want to.

There will always be another sound, another flicker in the corner of your eye, another presence too small to matter until it does. When it comes, you’ll remember this one.

And maybe, this time, you’ll open the window sooner.

Thanks for reading . Written by Jon from ClickWorldDaily
I write stories for those who feel things deeply, but quietly.

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Further Reading: Shadows Where Memory Lingers


IMAGE CREDITS

All images in this article were generated using AI, crafted intentionally to illustrate symbolic and emotional depth. These visuals are shared under fair use for the purpose of thoughtful commentary and immersive storytelling.


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If you choose to buy through them, we may receive a small commission. This comes at no additional cost to you. I only recommend items that hold symbolic weight in the story being told.

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