What was left of the fly (no pictures)

The fly managed through sheer will to crawl itself halfway up the bottle, much to Freddy's chagrin and disgust, for he wanted to see it suffer to the ends of its pitiful little life. We were reminded of a similar situation back in primary school when we tortured live ants by encasing them in correction fluid and watching their legs stiffen, by then we could safely pat them on their heads without them scurrying away. We called those ants 'pet ants'.

Naturally, those pets didn't last long so very quickly, our ant petting zoo became a graveyard (we'd encase the ants' bodies fully in correction fluid) and Fred would sometimes snip off their heads just to see what happens.

The fly slipped back from the slippery glass walls of the bottle onto its back and we couldn't help but laugh maniacally. For a minute there I felt a pang of guilt. Fred had wanted the fly to keep crawling up the bottle into another bottle he had prepared, when we realised that the fly wasn't moving anymore. It had apparently drowned in the puddle of soy bean drink left in the bottle.

I made a bet with Fred that the fly was still alive. Fred swirled the lifeless body around in the bottle, and scoffed, convinced that it was dead. I asked the waitress for a small bowl of salt; poured the fly onto a plate, and smothered it with a tablespoon of salt. Nothing happened. Whereupon we moved on to other distractions.

As we were about to leave, the previously motionless body of the fly twitched a little. 

And then a little more.