Like how the lion pounces on the zebra, the jumping spider scuttles onto the fly, twiddling it into a tight cocoon like a mother tucking in a child. But this mother has different intentions. Instead of a light kiss on the forehead, she leans down and injects her venom into the fly’s body, slowly disintegrating its insides into liquid. The spider then slurps up this liquid like soup. Over and over again, the spider catches her prey, disintegrates it, and drinks it as if it’s a 9 to 5 job. Every morning she wakes up from the morning sun, shining through the attic window like a shimmering crystal. She swiftly gets to work on shaping her unique web, like the tapestry of a goddess, so that she can capture her next meal. I used to be scared of spiders, a long, long time ago, but I’ve grown quite fond of this one. With her being the only living thing in the house for years, I don’t have much choice. If I didn’t have her, I’d be as lonely as someone stuck in a padded white room. I’d likely go insane without her. I watch as she crawls across the wall as if she’s a droplet of sweat trickling down the forehead of a nervous speaker. As she starts to stir, so do I.
Slowly, I roll over, like a beached whale, the worn attic floorboards trying to reach my senses but being just out of reach. My eyes glide over the hundreds of thousands of marks on the walls, the floor, the ceiling, almost seeming to move like ants on their glorious hill. I slump up from the ground, my hair flopping onto my forehead like a mop. I sleepily look down at the most recent marks on the floor. I lift my hand as the end of my finger forms a point that’s as sharp as a knife. I scratch another mark next to the others and glance around at the millions of them all scattered about like confetti. I don’t know why I do it, there is no reason really. It’s just something I started ever since my life escaped from my body, as fast as a single breath. You blink and you’re suddenly in a strange place you’ve never seen before. But that was years ago, I don’t even remember how many. I just keep marking because, why not, you know? It gives me something to do, a reason to keep going on. To watch as this attic gets filled with little scratches all over. Like a purpose for my life, or afterlife I suppose.
I stumble onto my feet and stretch by intangible muscles. “Welp, what are we doing today, Jane?” I ask the spider as she jumps to the windowsill. I walk over to her and look out the window down to the street, the outside world. The glass is like a barrier, keeping me from escaping. Acting as a ruler over my freedoms. Forcing me to just watch the people pass by like a frustrating movie. They’ll never break the fourth wall. Never look at you, talk to you, notice you. You don’t exist to them. You are nobody but a viewer. A watcher, as helpless as a fish out of water. And when you slowly run out of air, there’s no one to save you but yourself. Alone, in this stupid rundown house.
Jane looks up at me with her big, glass-like eyes. I guess I’m not completely alone. Someone can see me. She may be the only one, but she’s still someone. “What would I do without you?” I grin at her as I lean down next to her, laying my arms on the windowsill..
I notice snow starting to fall for the first time in a long while. It’s beautiful, the white flakes twinkling in the light of the sun like stars in the sky. My eyes follow as they drift down to the ground below, coating the grass like a soft blanket. A blanket that seems to warm my heart with hope like a cozy fireplace.
I suddenly hear a soft click and creak, like the front door being opened. I perk up and look at Jane, who obviously heard it too, looking around curiously. We stay quiet, listening. There’s a faint clicking sound of the door closing, then the light sound of sneakers walking into the house.
“Is…”
“Is someone here?”