I’m not making any excuses for this. I’ve been plagued with migraines since Tuesday, and I am only gradually feeling this last one subsiding. Blame Charli Mills’ Carrot Ranch writing prompt. She wanted insects, she got insects.
I have always loathed spiders, squished every one that got too close, mercilessly. Not surprising this drifting, restless dream, probably inspired by indigestion, has a big, fat spider in it. Its eyes, red and globular stare into mine, its hairy mandibles fidget. Its awful bulk scuttles closer. Even though it’s a dream I feel sick. I moan and try to wake, struggling against some tough, sticky stuff, binding my arms and legs. I hear the click click of those awful jaws. The eyes hypnotise. I try to scream, and my voice is the faint buzz of a dying fly.