A brown recluse spider ran OVER MY RIGHT FOOT in my basement lair here in Louisville. I think that maybe they are coming inside because it’s getting colder out, and I’m not happy. I had this horrible moment of doubt as I stood on my couch, simultaneously looking for a weapon and pitying the spider, who was trying to hide rather pathetically under my laptop’s power cord.
I don’t like killing. It makes my stomach hurt, even when it’s just a spider. I took a moment to apologize to the spider and wish it a better reincarnation (Why yes, I am a huge hippy! Thank you!). Deep breath, and I sprung off the couch armed with my laptop case, and stomped her to death.
Now I have this horribly sad spider story weaving through my head, about a spiderette widowed by my ruthless squashing of her mate. She lingered for nearly a month in what had been their home, lonely and searching for him everywhere, heartsick. Finally, she decided to force me into killing her by making a break for it in a form of spider satee.
I need to get into writing short stories.