A Spider Dies

Creeping warily it crawled, eight bony legs to drag its mass silently across the floor. With a flash of brilliant light, the room flared to life as if lit by four brilliant suns. Shelter it thought. Where was shelter? There was no shelter to spare it from its fate, for the suns had prophesied its doom.

A crack was not far away, but it was too far. A roar of great mammalian ferocity tore through the room, it had been spotted. Scrambling with all its sinewy might it skittered towards the safety of sweet darkness, sweet shelter.

Fate could not spare it, it was its time some would say. It was its time to die. Shelter, sweet shelter! So close, but too far! Safety so scrumptious denied, in mere moments the way was blocked. A great rod of oak slammed down in its path, safety had been stolen. Panic gripped it, fear stole its soul.

Desperation drove it away from safety, searching, searching for some other sanctuary. There was none. The rod of wood lifted, and the way was clear again! Hope! Beautiful hope! Hope was vain; its vanity ludicrous. The rod of wood, now a device of death decisively slammed down on it.

It twitched violently, and with its last strength tried to drag its failing carcass to safety. CRACK! It was struck again, hope was completely ruled out. Legs trembling and shaking it curled into death. The four suns faded, and a shadow cast itself into its many eyes. Shadow turned to darkness, and the darkness was not sweet darkness, sweet shelter. Dead.