I sometimes wonder what a fly must feel like , waiting with sticky threads wrapped around its body…its wings pulsing but unable to break the tension. It gives up hope, I think, and lies exhausted…until the subtle vibrations of the spider’s deathly crawl grow stronger and stronger. Eight glistening eyes peer at it from the void above…descending down.
Does it feel the sharp pain as the spider’s chelicerae pierce into its body…injecting the poison that now liquefies its insides until they become a slush of flesh that the spider draws in…
The insect lets go and succumbs to the undead comfort of its silken grave. The grim reaper looks on.
The web has us all.
But it has different manifestations for all of us. What does it mean to you?
