It was a battlefield; a massacre, really. Bodies everywhere. Some stunned, moving oddly. Others mangled. I couldn't walk without stepping on at least one body. As I surveyed the scene around me, gripping the electric bug zapper, I heard more flies buzzing from their hiding place. I ruffled the curtain and two more flies flew out. I chased them down. One escaped to the other room, but I got the second one. It fell, stunned, to the floor. A wing flapped wildly and made it look like a little, black spinning top. I stepped on it. I hate flies. I am the fly slayer!
(I've got to talk to the kids again about closing the back door behind them.)