SPIDER DREAMS: Chapter 8 & 9

ghostfish (60)in #steem • 6 years ago (edited)

A spider on a web rests in the railing of iron bridge. It looks to its neighbor who has almost completed weaving its own fine, thinly strung web and says,

 Chapter 8: Spider Talk

“Well fellow brother, we are both here. We are like each other as if two of the same. What does it matter, you being here or I? We hang here, both of us doing the same thing throughout our lives on these webs of a whim just wishing. Floating in a breeze for our next meal to arrive. We reside here in the emptiness waiting in all this nothingness. What difference is there between us? What reason is there in our actions? Can the quility of this emptiness be measured, can it be caught within your web?”

 Chapter 9:  The Sun Goddess and Lunatic

I look down, my hands are covered in white and aging. I notice each scar etched in my flesh over my life. For now they are covered in white. I must be at work. It’s the early evenings. I can’t decide what to do. Should I stay or should I go? In a couple minutes I’ll be home although, and at home it is always alright.

Most of the time I feel like a falling leaf floating on the river’s surface. Dead color pushed along in the unstable current. Suffering to steer in the rippling waves forming patterns. Sometimes I’m stagnant and caught on the shore watching others speed rapidly by too fast to notice what’s happening or what’s coming ahead. There is no need to know what has passed along for fear of boredom that may settle in.

Far off, out of the silence I can hear her; the tapping constant, flopping, sandals clicking to heel. A guy can hear those shoes for miles approaching, a waddle, and a strut. She has come, passing my way.

Sometimes when I chime, that’s when I know I’m ready.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hi,” she replies.

When the surface is curved it acts like a ball, round neat and bent. There aren’t many places to hide so we have to bump into each other over the plane of time.

The sun-goddess approaches, “What have you been doing?”

“Just painting the windows white and cleaning Mum. And how are you today?” I ask before she has a rebuttal and keeps the spotlight pointed on me. If I don’t move the subject to her she’ll surely pry me open like an oyster digging for my pearl.

“Pretty good, thank you.” She replies. “ God it’s beautiful out today, don’t you think?”

Shit, she has hit me back with a question. “Very nice indeed,” I comment sounding confident and mildly arrogant. It must be my age. It helps me hide my identity. “Not a cloud in the sky and the ones that are floating look like orange puffs of cotton strung out in wisp-dancing threads.”

I look up.

We both look up.

“Whoever made this masterpiece is a genius. A moving mosaic dancing in slow streams, and isn’t that tree over there just impressive? It’s all orange on one side.” I said. “From your window you have the best seat in the house.”

She smiles a smirk, quaint and devious. Her hair glows an umber yellow white, bright and mysterious. Deep purple lips sedative and tempting ask to be kissed. Giant magnificent breasts. Even the primal mother didn’t have such a blessing or curse upon her at birth. She dances a wiggle then turns herself and shimmies sideways through the doorway.

“I have a light bulb out in my apartment that needs replacing. I can’t reach it myself. If you find time could you stop in today? I’d appreciate it,” the door slams shut behind her. I am trapped, obsequious to orders.

Outside approaching, smiling, the toothless loon landscaper approaches with a shovel. He wiggles his tongue around in his vast gaping mouth lapping it between his glistening lower gum and pink exposed top. Smooth and polished like a baby’s grin. One tooth left yellow and dangling like a tag at the end of a string. I suppose he might be here for the meat.

"Oh, how I’m sure glad she doesn’t have me inside today,” his words drowning in his own swollen tongue. “It is too nice out. It is too nice outside today. Don’t you think pal?” He sends a sharp elbow into my rib.

“You know what it’s like moving earth. All that ground?” he asked, profusely and impatiently rubbing his wet hands together. “Ya know it makes a guy real heavy. Yes,” he slurps and continues, “Yes there indeed, I don’t like that all too much. Oh, so much gladder it is not being inside today. I like being outside. I like doing this.” He points to the rolled up corner of green sod resting solid next to the stone brick house. “Don’t you be going inside these parts pal. It’s so much nicer out here,” and he begins wandering and whistling about the yard softly swaying his arms in glee at their sides. He rushes back up to me one eye up to the sky and the other looking me dead in my face. His fingers knotted together. “I’m sure glad I’m laying earth today. That’s for sure, that’s for sure.” Spittle slashes my cheek with his rotting corpse’s breath. Foam collects at the sides of his mouth. “The Queen, she has me on duty today. Come, come I will show you.”

I followed him as he leads across the open yard, around the shade garden, beautiful and blossoming green. He begins to whistle again and opens the cellar door.

“Down, down, yes. No more earth to move; come, come down under, under the ground, yes, yes. I am around looking chasing after spiders. I find them. I find their nests, their eggs. The creepies. They’re all around. I find them. I find them all and I suck them up. I suck up all the creepies, all their homes. All around these caves it’s a got to be done. It’s got to be clean!” He whistles around his tongue. He begins to speak louder while pointing a blunt finger to the cave ceiling. A few thick strands of dark hair protrude between his knuckles and joints on his digits. There is black paint on his pants and a little on his leg.

“I was doing a fine job, real nice, real nice and clean. I be sucking them up all their webs and legs. Legs and sacks of babies. Round orange sacks filled with baby creepies. Lots of baby creepies. Can’t have baby creepies. Warden and Queen’s orders. Told me themselves. No spiders, no webs, no creepies.”

I just sat there nodding at him in bewilderment.

“I got it real clean. The whole place. Then wet, I got wet. See?” He points around.

“Got wet?” confused I asked turning to look at him. This place gives me the creepy weepies. Damp, dark, and with a moist mold-filled odor, like a soggy log. At least there aren’t any spiders.

“Yes, yes, wet. Over here, look!” He jerks me by the sleeve lurching me around the corner. “In the walls. In the walls. That’s where it’s wet. That’s where they are. That’s where they live.”

A massive crack split apart the brick wall. A fountain shot out in a stream trickling down and pooling at our feet. The puddle across the floor grew inch by inch rapidly. The crevices opened wider tearing apart the wall and spilling water everywhere. In seconds, we were nearly submerged.

“We should get the warden in here!” I shout trying to hear my own voice over the gurgling of pumping fluids.

Some machine behind the water screamed like a dry engine with a mad thirst to be drunk on oil. Tiny green marbles began falling from the ceiling plunking with a splash into the rising surface. Ripples dissipated in all directions.

I looked myself in the mirror. One pupil swelled larger then the other and then I was submerged below the surface with the lunatic. Alone with the lunatic. It’s all his fault. He got me into this. I knew if I didn’t let go of my nose soon that I would surely pop. Glad I wasn’t outside today. It’s way too nice in here. It’s much nicer in here. It’s so clean. No spiders down here. That’s for sure, pal. Nice and clean… and the lights begin to fade. I cannot see anymore. The wall opens to black. There is nothing… maybe children. Yes, the drowned voices of children laughing, laughing, laughing and giggling.

Children playing, I can hear them now.