Why did I listen to her? 'Come along for a few meetings and see what you think.' So I sat with her. I was attracted to the calm. Before I knew it I was signing up for a retreat. It was the stillness and silence that I loved. Before I knew it, I was a card-carrying Buddhist. I wasn't one of the showy ones. No saffron robes or shaved head for me. My belief system remained private. I taught biology at the local secondary school, not theology. Then the accident happened and I ended up here. ***** Throughout my devotions and meditations, I'd learned about the Stream of Consciousness. I never expected it to be literal. I've spent almost an entire year underwater. I don't want you to feel sorry for me. It hasn't been dull. I've grown. I've lost count of the times I've outgrown my exoskeleton . I've been surviving on decaying vegetation. I couldn't quite face the thought of algae. The sight of my brothers and sisters bottom-feeding on sediment turned my stomach. But each to his own. I'm not one to judge. Today's the day. As I emerge above the surface, I take in my new surroundings. I'd say North America if I were pressed but geography was never my strong subject. There are thousands of us. We swarm together and create a mist of insects. We adapt to our new wings. Some of the males are such show-offs. Anything to impress the ladies. It's early in the morning. If I remember my teaching notes, then I have twenty hours remaining. I'd better make them count. I'm not bitter. I'd read several pamphlets on the Wheel of Life. I understand the need to submit to the greater will. I won't lie to you. I'd hoped to come back as something with a slightly longer lifespan. But I must accept the hand I've been dealt. My new body takes a bit of adjustment. Seven pairs of gills on my abdomen take care of the breathing. I'm not quite sure of the point of these back legs. They don't work. Maybe they're for decoration. But who am I to question the Creator? My membranous wings are very pretty. I'm very proud of them and love how the light catches them. Pride was severely frowned upon in my former life. I wonder if I'm allowed to feel it here? Have the rules changed? I'm probably the only one who knows what our species is called. There are over 2,500 types. Sure, they all think of themselves as mayflies. But I know we come from the palingeniidae family. Life as a nymph was OK. But now as a fully formed adult mayfly I have a mission. My primary function is reproduction. Having two penises may take a while to get used to. I think that my one day on Earth as a fully-fledged mayfly would have been a disaster if it had been raining. Fortunately, it's looking promising. Not a cloud in the sky. It's quite a sobering thought to be so far down the food chain. I have natural predators from above and below. Birds may swoop down and fish may jump up at any time. We must remain vigilant. I've always been a loner. The others dance around in large groups and land on any available surface. I see tens of them, maybe hundreds, picked off as they fly too close to the water's surface. That's greedy catfish for you. I'm content to sit on this reed and marvel at my eyes. A miracle of nature or evolution; whatever you choose to believe. Each eye contains thousands of individual photoreceptor units. I wish I had somebody to share this information with. They're all too busy. I believe it's called checking out the talent. ***** It's noon already. Many of my fellow mayflies have coupled off. I don't want to sound perverted but it's quite beautiful to observe. The balletic way the males grasp the females with their powerful front legs is impressive in itself. They then manage mid-air mating. To think that as a child I had trouble with climbing a rope. ***** By judging the sun's position in the sky I would hazard a guess as suggesting it's about three o'clock in the afternoon. Many of our number have fallen. Sexually sated, many were caught off guard. Some simply passed away and returned to the slow-moving water. I haven't got long now. There is moisture in the air. I'll take shelter under that tree. That's better. I'm resting on the most fabulous bloom. Its fragrance is overpowering. It's like mayfly marijuana. I feel positively light-headed. I'll probably get the munchies soon. Who's this? I'm joined by a possible mate. She may not be the most attractive of the bunch. Her antennae are of unequal lengths, but it's what's on the inside that counts. She seems content to let me talk. I explain to her about subimagos. I don't think she comprehends fully. I'm not sure how to make the first move. I've always been rather shy. She compliments me on my thorax. I'll spare you the details, but it was extremely fulfilling for me. I think she enjoyed it too. We sit in companionable silence. It's like the retreats used to be. No need to say anything. So, perhaps I haven't met my soulmate. Her conversation is limited but we have a connection. I hear a twig snap. I sense movement nearby. I fly to a high up branch. It's too late for her. The last image of my lover is seeing her carried away in a glass jar. I hope there are plenty of holes in the lid. She has been collected by a child. Probably for a nature project. I doubt whether our eggs will be allowed to hatch. I won't be a father. Not in this life anyway.
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