Revenge of the fly

The strip of wax evaded and now the winged insect is posed in defensive posture. Microscopic eyes would surely reveal a glimpse of the devil's pointed feeler aimed at my head. So sure of this tiny beast's want of my demise I wait, fly swatter in hand. Duel to the death, and my batting average is low. The developed squirmy being takes flight. I swing, hooray! I miss, boo-hoo! The fly has completed it's buzz of the tower which is my head and soars off to plan the next attack. Subconsciously this fly wants to be a kamikaze.