The room was dark… But not black. You know, there was that sliver of orange light from the street coming through my parted curtains. There was just enough to make out the shape of my desk, my bean-bag chair... Just enough to highlight the shapes and create an eerie haze.

I turned over in my bed, fiddling with a strand of my greasy hair. Then I saw him.

He was building a web between my bed post and my side table. The little threads glowed prettily in that odd light and I watched. He worked his way up, and down, up, and down, to the side, he stopped… The motions were mesmerizing. His little legs scuttled in an almost alien fashion, rushing and working to create his little piece of art. This pretty little monument of great effort, of nature's terrific fly-trap.

When he was done he sat square in the middle, his little body nimbly resting on those delicate strings. I smiled. It was truly a lovely thing to witness.

He twitched once or twice, and I considered him. He was so small, so fragile… But so strong. Functional. With abilities I will never possess. He had spent twenty minutes of his already short life span creating this beautiful thing I will never understand. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? Did the light make him as uncomfortable as it did me?


I gently reached over and picked up my book. Swiftly, I dropped it on him, crushing that exquisite artist along with his exquisite creation. Deftly removing another small, but amazing, thing from existence.

Oh, to be a spider.