.018

A few nights ago, there was a spider on my wall.

Being the coward I am when it comes to bugs and other crawling creatures, I stood petrified in my room, staring fixedly at the motionless black thing on the bit of wall behind my bedroom door for about fifteen minutes. Or twenty.

Heights of feet by the thousands, enclosed spaces with leg room by the inches, even stomaching down foods a starving mongrel would refuse.. I can handle these sorts of things.
But not bugs. Not crawling creatures with more than four legs, much less twice the amount, and even further less, things with black bulbous bodies and legs that run faster than the eye can see without straining. Like people with claustrophobia who hyperventilate in closed spaces, I panic in the presence of bugs, nevermind that they be thousands of times smaller than I.

A fear that often accompanies a phobia as embarrassing as mine would be the fear of killing said creatures.

The one thing that animals and bugs don't possess that very well could save their lives from the killing hands of unflinching humans is a voice, one similar to and as loud as a human voice. If all sentient creatures, not just people, had loud voices, had a clear, universal language, then they too would be just as capable as us to scream. To reason. To plead.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not a radical animal rights activist or anything.. Chickens can be rather tasty.

but, when I'm hovering over a creature smaller than I am by the thousands with a tissue ready in hand, I wonder if this thing knows that it's about to meet its impending doom, and I wonder if this thing has a voice and I just don't have the ears to hear it cry.
My hand always retracts.



I didn't kill the spider. Way to go, me.
Though, maybe it was bad of me to have chased it to my parents room.



Fuck, I'm so weird.

I really should stop using the word "and" so much.