I’m up at first light, or rather out of the water and into the sky, and that’s a wonderful moment. An explosion of light and blazing colours – it’s actually a little scary at first, till you realise it’s the world and you just think ‘Wow!’ There’s no other way to describe it. As soon as I discovered what to do with my wings, I was off. I wanted to see it all.
I don’t have any breakfast. In fact I don’t eat at all because my mouth’s too tiny. Vestigial, they call it – just a little outward sign but no digestive system to go with it. That was a disappointment at first. Before becoming a mayfly I was a naiad – a nymph, if you prefer – and I lived in the water where there wasn’t much to do but eat. So I was looking forward to some breakfast – pollen washed down with a drop of dew, say. But you get used to everything and I don’t think I have a right to complain. Compared to the pond, where movement was restricted and conditions were murky, this is an absolute paradise.
It’s not all sweetness and light, mind you. We mayflies don’t have mouths, but I very soon learnt that other creatures do, and they don’t hesitate to use them. The fish in the pond were bad enough but the birds up here are even worse. I was barely a few minutes old when I nearly flew straight into the throat of a sparrow. I just managed to dart away but it damn near clipped my wings when the beak slammed shut. I wised up quickly after that. You have to be on the look out all the time. I remember, around mid-morning, a mate of mine nudged me and pointed, and there on a branch not ten feet away was a magpie. That’s one huge motherfucker! Luckily it didn’t see us, but I don’t fancy coming across one again.
They don’t tell you much as a naiad. In fact I’d say our education was very poor. You come out here and you have to learn it all the hard way. Luckily flying’s easy – just a matter of fluttering your wings and going wherever you fancy. The wind can be a bit of a nuisance, but I’ve learnt not to struggle against it. Better to let it take you wherever it’s blowing – after all, it’s not as if I’ve got a specific place to get to. I haven’t a clue how far I’ve travelled in my life, but I’ve seen a lot of flowers and a fair few trees as well. I never cease to marvel at the variety.
I’ve got two penises, which I suppose in some ways makes up for the lack of a mouth, though it’s a pretty weird trade-off, I admit. I call them Tom and Dick, and I wouldn’t have minded being given a Harry too. But two’s probably more than most other creatures can boast of, and one thing I can tell you is that they both get their fair share of action.
Actually, that’s not difficult. Apart from taking in the sights as we fly around, shagging’s all we mayflies really get up to. It’s not as if I’ve had to learn any pick up lines – the girls are just so into it, I’d have trouble keeping up even if I did have a Harry.
I’ve never been in a long term relationship. I wouldn’t have minded, but the girls don’t see it that way. Soon as they’re banged, they’re off to look for some water to lay their eggs. Much good it does them, mind – the effort literally kills them. Still, they’ll have done their bit for the species, and that’s what it’s all about really, isn’t it? And even if half of them get gobbled up by some bastard carp, I’ll still have a few hundred progeny, and that’s nice to know.
It would be nicer still to get down there for a chat. But once you come out of the water, there’s no going back. It’s such a different life out here, I can hardly remember what it was like as a nymph. I sometimes think it would be nice to visit the kids, though, just so they could see what they’ll look like when they grow up. That’s a chance I never got. I think it would just blow them away.
One thing I wouldn’t tell them, though, is the lifespan thing. I mean, what’s the point? They’ll find out soon enough. Actually, I didn’t find out myself till getting on for half eleven, so I had a few hours when I was blissfully unaware. I was with a bunch of mates when all of a sudden I sensed this ripple of shock going round – someone had just been told we’d all be dead by the end of the day. At first we didn’t believe it. You know, you get some flies with a pretty twisted sense of humour. But then it kind of dawned on us – we were spending all that energy flying around and shagging, and not getting any protein to replace it. And we were, like, ‘Duh! Why didn’t we realise before?’
For a while after that, it was all a bit doom and gloom, but we picked up pretty quickly. I mean, it wasn’t even noon, and sunset still seemed ages away. And someone came up with this motto, carpe diem, and I guess that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. Because that’s what it’s all about really, isn’t it? Taking what comes, having a ball, celebrating the fact of being alive. Hallelujah!
Looking back now, of course, the time just seems to have whizzed by, but I consider myself lucky to have come this far. Almost seven p.m. and I’m still around. I’ve seen so many mates disappear, at times it was an absolute massacre. In the end you learn to ignore it – stiff upper lip, as it were – because otherwise you get to thinking that the only reason you’re there is to be fodder for other creatures. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s really what it is, but I’ve never dwelt on it. It kind of adds up when you think about it, but I find it a hard idea to get my head round, and I’m not sure I want to. At this stage in my life I’m just happy to have had the most brilliant day imaginable. I think on the whole we mayflies get a good deal – just think what it must be like for decemberflies.
No, I’ve had a good innings, that’s for sure. There’s been ups and downs, but I got the best out of it and now I reckon I’m ready. It took me a while to figure out how to handle it – the whole dazzling scariness of existence – but once I’d decided to marvel at every moment, celebrate every second, everything fell into place. I wouldn’t say I’m religious but I’m feeling pretty sanguine about whatever comes next. To be frank, I’m quite shagged out.