It's disturbing. The image of amber-colored sticky swirls dangling from the ceiling looking like fruit roll-ups of death. You can hear the flies on them, buzzing, dieing, screaming the screams of flies struggling to escape death.
It's like having electric chairs hanging from the ceiling.
I've never touched a fly trap. I have the idea that if I did my hand would stick, that I too would be stuck, would never break free. I'd struggle and yell, first in surprise and in horror and then in frustration. Finally I'd yank the trap down and walk around with the sticky strap of dead flies with broken wings and pain-contorted faces hanging down from my hand.
Once when I was like 5 I was eating cold spaghetti for lunch when a fly came and landed on my parmesan cheese. Leaving little tracks. I was a kid and I'd heard that every time a fly lands it poops and throws up at the same time, which was gross but the way I figured it was the fly just wanted to eat. So I poured a little pile of parmesan cheese on the table for the fly. It didn't didn't seem to notice so I made it a little bigger and then a little bigger again until my mom came in and wanted to know why I was dumping cheese on the table. She hit the fly with a swatter that made a whistling whoosh before the slap.
We've been leaving the doors open here, or I have, and the flies have been flying in circles and landing tickling on our arms and faces. It's annoying, I think, but my house mates seem to think it's more than that and they've been cursing flies for a few weeks now. So Amber's here and she went and bought a half-dozen traps and hung them around. She's keeping a personal tally of dead flies, and since the packages advertise the 'odorless attracting power' she yells to the flies be attracted, be attracted, be enticed.
I shudder and she laughs at me, saying I'm squeamish.