A
shrill shriek echoed through me; terrified by my mere existence. It
was delicious. See that's the thing, when you're consistently the
cause of soul scratching screaming until you are constrained under
some devilishly inescapable cover, you must learn to search and
tightly grasp onto the bright side of a situation (even if you are
swallowed by darkness under some sort of cup). My personal positive
spin is the comforting knowledge that I possess a great deal of
power. My fragile body has the capacity to make someone a hundred
times my size cower in fear, as if they were a tiny frightened fly
trapped in my web as a helpless snack.
I
scurry the streets, clambering up walls of houses in search of a dry
place in which I can rest for a few tentative days. But flies
-fluttering, frantic flies- constantly buzzing around mysterious
beaming balls of light, draw me into centres of rooms- into the
danger zone. Through time and loss of relatives, I have learned that
these towering shelters are unsafe. Within situates the most unkind
and selfish monstrosities that walk this fruitful earth on their
meagre two legs; the creature that goes by the label of 'human'.
However, in the spider community they are more fondly known as
'arachnid-abolishers'. Despite their pale, garishly oversized and
powerful limbs, they are still intent on wiping out my 'itsy-bitsy'
species. I can trek in the freezing and fatal winds to sweetly perch
in an empty corner to treat myself to dryness and safety for a short
period of time to almost be squashed in an imperative instant.
My
existence in comparison to my surrounding infinitesimal. My species
have to avoid death at almost every exhausting turn because in a wet
second, we could be gone. One raindrop could be the final,
oxygen-depriving element that I encounter. Those powerful droplets of
destruction can come pounding to the ground at any given moment, so
we must remain alert for this wet assassin. It is surprising, with my
fantastically long and elegant eight legs, I still struggle to swim. I
frantically flail my extremities on the surface briefly, before
descending to the hard floor like a perfect pebble.
Despite
my incessant rant of my hardships, I have been rather lucky in my
life, purely in the sense that I am still breathing. I fill my lonely
days with one of the only things that makes me happy and keeps me
sane. Webs. Spinning endlessly, swaying to and fro in a glistening
blur of complete ecstasy. Like the delicate transparent wing of a
fly, it is clear that I have an innate purpose to be on this earth;
to create the breath-taking works of webs. Each design is different
and unique; it is art (the flies just add an extra tasty decoration).
However, such a creation can be instantaneously swept away in one
selfish movement by these giant creatures. To them, my work isn't
captivating creativity: to them it is unconventional and
stereotypically hideous.
The
knowledge that I am a constant irritation to those who have the
unsightly task of looking at me is relentless, leaving me feeling
low, as if I had the stubby legs of a lady bug. I feel as if I am
dragging my worthless body around until the day those foul creatures
decide to mercilessly end my solitary suffering, eliminating my
imaginary threat. Although my shell-like exterior is darker than
soil, it doesn't mean my intentions are too. My arachnid view on life
is evidently not as advanced as yours, of this I am aware. Perhaps my
wish to co-exist is far fetched, but consider this. I dream to live
another day, in fear that I will be needlessly squished because I'm
not ascetically pleasing to you, and I suspect that you feel no
remorse in making me feel this way. However, if a fellow human told
you that they felt this way, wouldn't you be ashamed of your species?
Feeling utter empathy for the individual?
I
may be deliriously droning on about my life, but in my current
plastic consumed situation, there isn't much else to focus on. This
is futile- as is my existence- you can't even understand a single
word I am throwing at you. For every word I waste, precious energy is
burned- I should simply sit, awaiting my impending death. For I am
trapped, within a giant bowl, soon to be filled with fiery hot water;
washed away into the portal of death. Drained; discarded. The words I
have spoken, the thoughts that have flown and my talent of web-design
will be lost, eternally. Helpless; the state I came into this world
and fittingly, the way in which I shall make my grand exit. This
imminent, inevitable death is something I have prepared myself for. I
depart in the hope that I have made a dent in your dense view of my
species- as spiders are spectacular. We will never be defeated.
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