Apr 26, 2005 01:18
there is a spider crawling up your wall. or is it a door? or a floor? he's far too small to tell. the big picture is so far away from such a small creature, yet the finest details have an enormous consequence on upon his life. the things we take for granted are the only things he's ever known. the tiny imperfections in the wall he scales like we would walk across the floor are apparent to him, yet go unnoticed by those who live between those walls everyday of their wasted lives.
shelter.
food.
babies.
that's all our 8 legged friend has ever known in his life. survival. he crawls to the corner of the room and begins to spin his home. the silk dangles from his abdomen like a ballon on a tiny golden-white string. he attaches the tread to the corner and swings across to the other. the tiny hero resembles a trappeez artist performing a double camel's drop without the aid of a saftey net. caution to the wind. refuge. sustinance. babies. if he dies now, it is of no consequence to him. survival is only for the fittest in this, the tinies world. he swings back to the other wall again and again, weaving his web of survival. the slik is warm between his mandibles, pouring from his bodywith every tiny willed secretion. nutrients. asylum. survival of the species.
hunger
the hours go by. his web is completed, a masterpeice to modern evolution. our hero must wait. food. shelter. procreation. overwhelming hunger. he sits there, still as can be, his yellow body casting only the tiniest opaque shadow on the cream colored wall. he will go unnoticed. he disapears. it is survival. a fly, juicy and green, soars into his web. buzzing and fighting for his freedom, he only sticks himself in deeper. the spider races to his catch. he secreates more slik, wraps up the shiny green house fly and awaits suffication. still the fly struggles... but to no avail. death will creep in soon. the darkness that surrounds him in his silk cocoon of horror. the buzzing is still furious, but slowly, it dies down... and the fly accepts his fate. food. shelter. reproduction.
the protagonist sinks his pincers deep into the bowels of the fly, who is, still, barely alive, but far too dead to continue to struggle. he sucks the juicy insides out of the housefly, sustaining his meager life, if only for another day.
nourishment. sanctuary. reproduce.
there is nothing else important to the spider, there is nothing else he needs to acomplish in his short life. there is nothing else he can acomplish. sustain the species. stay alive. what else is there to matter to him? money, work, recreation... these things do not exist in the tiny universe.
survive.....
squish!
he never saw the shoe flying at him. his guts oozed a green bubbley liquid as they smeared across the wall and the bottom of your shoe. his last thoughts, like his first.....
food.
shelter.
procreation.
one defining lesson is learned today. we are the spider... and mankind is the shoe. dont' get stepped on today.
end