Resistance Is Futile…


I was sitting in a cave the other day, hiding from my enemies who were scouring the countryside for any trace of my rebellious nature. Defeat sat beside me.

The cave was dark, wet, and very cold. Still, it was better than being dragged behind my enemies, paraded before the populace, mocked, then hanged from a gibbet. I was going to be in that cave for a long, long time.

“What’s your problem, misery?”

A little voice crept down towards me from above.

“Cheer up my man, it’s not as if it’s the end of the world.”

I looked up expecting to see my former tormentors and present captors. What I saw was just darkness punctuated by the slivers of silvery light that were captured by the threads of a fragile web. Tiny droplets of dampness had formed at the junctures between the threads and I let my gaze rest upon them.

“So, you planning to stay here from this time on, are you?”

“Who are you,” I fired back, my nerves at breaking point.

“I, my bonny boy, am the spider on your shoulder.”

My head spun around to the left.

“Your right shoulder, daft lad.”

I corrected instantly and came face to face with a fairly robust looking arachnid sitting somewhat imperiously upon me. I had not felt its presence before and was somewhat shocked. My left hand raised itself in defence, its automatic response to sweep the offending thing off me.

“Whoa! Slow down. I’m only wanting to chat.”

A talking spider? 


As far as I was concerned, my pursuers could have me; my senses had already passed over. 

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