I hate spiders.
GOD, I hate spiders.
I can't do anything without a
spider crawling by.
Big, hairy ones, teeny weenie
shrimpy ones. (see also:
pron) Spiders with
eight legs. Spiders with
six legs. Spiders with
twenty legs.
Degenerate, beastly abominations, I've seen them... They
slouch by
in the dark, biding their time until the lights are loosed... then BLURRING
across the landscape...
tile,
glass,
concrete,
carpet; upside -down, downside-right,
inside-out or
down the rabbit hole.
It makes no difference for
them. And in the
fortunate event you hit one
squarely, it shrivels up with its
last ounce of nerve. Your skin crawls with it. Your
spine tingles.
Turn your head to grab the broom,
dustpan, piece of paper or shovel, and
it's gone. Gone to
skitter another day. To
loom just out of sight. To give you the
notion that something is terribly wrong.
I can't
sleep. I can't
eat fondue. I can't even
take a piss. There are spiders
everywhere. Hiding in the dark.
In my shoes. Under my
couch. Ready to
pounce,
attack, and
suck every last ounce of blood from my withering body. To eat my
toenails off whilst I am
sleeping.
But they
will not
take me...