Like a Fly in a Bottle

I CAN RECALL, AS A CHILD, pursuing the often futile and always inhuman pastime of catching flies. When fortune would smile on me and allow my sweeping hand to ensnare one of the elusive creatures the real fun could begin. An empty bottle had already been secured in anticipation of a successful hunt and immediately upon capture the fly, buzzing angrily, would be popped into the waiting neck. With my thumb blocking any try at escape I would shake the little monster to the bottom. The bottle then would be laid on its side and I would watch the helpless creature's crazy gyrations and outbursts against a life he hated but could not escape.