A Delicate Thread Of Desire

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.