Mrs Fly – Harpy Hybrid Review

I still joke that his antennae are more impressive than any hipster’s handlebar moustache. We do that, make light of stuff as a way of processing it. Pokerfaced, I say, well, I’ve always liked my men hairy.

People think me marrying Seth was some kind of pity project, but they’re wrong. Even though he’s not who he once was, I chose to marry the man, and I guess, the insect too. Despite his partial musca head, Seth’s brain is as it always was: brilliant, inventive. He’s still working on his projects, albeit (understandably) not teleportation. Doctors don’t know much, guess his life expectancy could be human divided by fly.

Am I repulsed by the changes in Seth? No, I find all of him disarmingly exquisite: the red shimmer of his wide eyes, which remain mono-lensed, although he jokes he’d happily see hundreds of me. The wings that never fully formed. How, when he’s naked, sometimes he lifts in a little frenzy. I wish he could scoop me up and carry me over Meersbrook. I’d love to fly.

I know you’re wondering, so I’ll just say it, sex isn’t safe sadly, not anymore. There’s too much unknown; bacteria, what Seth consumes. That doesn’t mean we don’t have intimacy though. He loves me combing his thorax hair, the soft sponge-suck of his lips across my shoulders is divine. He drinks the oil from my curls and buzzes his half-wings against my skin.

By rights, Seth should be filthy, unhygienic, but he works hard to maintain his cleanliness. He does it for me. It’s his behaviours that are tricky. Forget your typical domestic couple problems, Seth will gladly take off his socks and dip his feet in manure to get a good taste (we’ve a no bare feet rule now). And there’s dinnertimes, and the practicalities of walking the dog. I’m forever ready with a plastic bag, remembering him crouched in front of that old couple once. We won’t feel ashamed though.

At night my man is all stillness and contemplation. In daylight hours I can’t keep up with him, so fast he passes me on the stairs before I’ve even realised. Sometimes he laments the mistake he made; the arrogance of man for playing with nature.

But hell, maybe he was onto something, because, the truth is, being part fly has given him more purpose, and it’s changed me too. His need for, let’s be honest, shit – it’s brought perspective. Life cycles, fuel, waste, our place in nature. As a couple, it’s taken away the shame we carried in our bodies, the denial that one day – we too will rot. Perhaps, if I disappear before Seth, he’ll eat me up. I’d take it as an act of love.

Someday, I hope he’ll finally agree to teleporting me to join his hybrid world, merge me with something that lives longer, or maybe not; I think it’s our empathy for this one, rare and finite life that makes us ‘human’, and I’ve always loved butterflies.

Note: The Fly is a science fiction horror short story first published in the June 1957 by French British writer George Langelaan. The story of The Fly (a half-human half-man character) is most well-known by its film adaptations in 1958 and 1985. In the 1985 David Cronenberg film, the lead character (Seth Brundle) is played by Jeff Goldblum. Greena Davis (Veronica ‘Ronnie’ Quaife) plays his love interest.

Mrs Fly was previously published in print in the 100th issue of Mslexia Magazine (in The World’s Wife section).

Vicky Morris

Three Questions for Vicky

What inspired your choice of genre and/or form for your work?

I didn’t set out with a particular genre in mind; it arrived more as a voice. Because I write more poetry than fiction, it naturally leaned towards something image-led and rhythmic rather than plot-driven. It felt like it needed the compression and sound of poetry, but also the space of prose to hold the narrative and the character, so it settled somewhere between a prose poem and flash fiction. The monologue form also felt right, as it allows Mrs Fly’s voice to carry both the tenderness and the strangeness without too much framing.

What was your creative process?

The piece began with the idea of Mrs Fly, the ‘what if’ of her situation and the question of how we love. Her voice came quite clearly, when I thought of the crossing of domesticity, with love and with the reality of Seth as part man, part insect, and I followed it from there. I wrote it fairly instinctively, letting the images and associations build rather than planning a structure. I love the iceberg effect of flash fiction (what we can just see the tip of), and what suggestion can do, so I played with that where I could. The rest of the process was then shaping the rhythm and sound, reading it aloud, and refining the balance between the domestic and the surreal. I was interested in how far I could push the horror elements while keeping the voice grounded in love and care.

What is the significance of this work to you?

For me, this piece explores what it means to love someone through change, especially when that change is uncomfortable, unknown or unfamiliar. It’s about care, acceptance, and the shame we carry in our bodily selves, but also about perspective, how quickly what seems grotesque can become intimate and even beautiful. It touches on ideas of mortality too and whether what it means to be human is something fixed or something we redefine through how we relate to each other and our place in the natural world.

Vicky Morris is a British–Welsh poet, short story writer, editor and creative educator based in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, UK. Her debut pamphlet If All This Never Happened (Southword Editions) was a winner of the Fool for Poetry International Chapbook Competition and shortlisted for Best Poetry Pamphlet (Saboteur Awards 2021). Her poems have appeared widely in magazines and journals, including The Rialto and Poetry Review. She is the founder of Hive Young Writers Network and the editor of eight anthologies of poetry and fiction by emerging young writers. www.vickymorris.co.uk