The spiders in my mother’s house are not my friends when I visit there. They do not want me around. Everyone has left the house, except for my mother and the spiders. There are more of them than her. They multiply in the dark corners of empty rooms. They live in the walls. They climb on the ceiling. They bite me in my sleep.
They are afraid of me too because they know I will crush them if I get a chance. I will. And I won’t even feel bad about it, even though I am taking a life. I will feel a little bad, but not really and only for a second. Then I will be glad there are less spiders in my mother’s house. She doesn’t need them in her life. She already had a family.