Summer Flies - Short Story

It was time again for the Summer Flies. Something he had surely not missed since the last time he came up to the cabin by the lake. He drove through the forested path to the private lake with the windows up and the AC on as high as it would go, and yet sweat still beaded on the back of his neck. He slowed the car as he neared the cabin and parked it in the dirt and gravel clearing by the front door. The tire tracks from last year’s visit up here were still scarred into the dirt, mingling with the fresh tracks of this year’s visit. He stepped out of the car and took in the air. He almost enjoyed it for a moment. That was until the flies began to buzz around his ears and touch his face. With a sour grimace he swatted away the flies and made for the door. He had things still to get from the car, but he figured they could stand the heat a little longer than he could. He produced the old key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Pushing the door open with his forearm, he took one look around the room and smiled. All of his things from last year sat perfectly tidy where he had left them. The stacks of books he had read one hundred times sat neatly in their bookshelf, his bag of camera supplies and recording equipment rest undisturbed on the round wooden table in the center of the room, and even the old antenna TV (although covered in dust) stood in it’s stand almost welcoming him back. He didn’t bother closing the door behind him as he traced a hand along the familiar arm of the sofa. He bent slowly to sit in the soft cushions, which he promptly sank in. While a relaxed sigh, he rest his feet on the round table and lay his head back. He would get his things from the car in a moment. Right now, he was content with just winding down. It had been a very long car ride after all, and a very busy night at Michelle’s house last night. Or was it Josie? No, Josie didn’t have the red highlights in her hair like Michelle did. The insignificance of the thought amused him, and he smiled and tried to make himself think of nothing else but the softness of the cushions.

He must have fallen asleep, because it was dark when he lifted his feet off the table and raised his head off the sofa cushions. He cursed himself for getting so comfortable and he strode to the open door. He looked across the dirt clearing to his car and frantically felt for his keys. He didn’t mind his things getting warm in the sun but he hadn’t expected it to sit out for hours like this. He rounded his car, walking past the driver door to the trunk. With his back to the lake, he put the key in the trunk’s lock and gave it a turn. With a sharp click, he pressed the button and lifted the trunk up to peer at his belongings. His nose wrinkled at the stench, and his bit his lip with anxiety at how he might have ruined his things. The Summer Flies swarmed the trunk of his car, eager to partake in what he had brought to the cabin with him but he shooed them away. His things were not for them, they were for his photography; Her and the red highlights in her hair.