The spider of remorse repelled from the ceiling in short gasps. Each gasp brought the bearing of security, plucking set string on resolve. Tiny legs flailed home, for the body below. Found, the spider began to weave. It scrambled over the mound of befuddled heaves. Securing lines, tethering the giant to his bed like a Lilliputian staking Gulliver, the spider waited for the dreams, to watch them tangle like prey in the web.

Bile stirred in his stomach while the liver pressed on, too big for the job. His swollen tongue was dry and he rubbed it against his upper palate to generate some spit. The spit was like taffy. His capillaries were collapsing upon themselves and the aching beat of his heart echoed in his head like a tribal drum. The insides of his eyelids hurt, his eyes were stuck shut with grit. He was fully clothed under the warm down and the radiator was blaring, hissing, clunking. The pores of his skin oozed a stinky sweat that covered his body like thick layers of paint.

Realizing the body was awake, the spider crunched down in a ball, all knees. The body below cringed with knotty kidneys and pulled the pillow close. The reminiscent taste of booze awakened the memory of tequila late and another shot of Beam. He twisted in his shallow cocoon while swallowing hard to remember the events of the night.

Out there, in the shadows, lights that turned off when he walked under them illuminated twigs and icicles on the walkway. He stepped beyond the beguiled snow, elusive of ice and danced in the mosaic of shadow. The walk was easy, like a self driving car. Each step found home and he could feel the movement of legs through air getting him where he was going.

The evasive spider caught a swift moment of drifting dream. A dream of being under water while able to breathe.

The body could barely breathe. Waves of forgetting grief welled within. It felt like a burning candle and the wick of grief was slowly melting integrity. Carefully, the woes pooled like melted wax until the heat willed soul to succumb to reality.


It dripped down the sides.

The body gulped.

Alone in the abyss.

The wax of integrity cooled on the sides.

The spider smiled.

not whispering...

The body did not move. It closed his eyes and hoped for a better place. A place where boats floated on a river of history. Where papayas and mangos hung gnarly branches over brown water twisting current like ripples of time. Deep down, he knew this place, he could not be there, but it erupted in his heart. Wanting too much for a memory.

The spider scrambled toward the neck. It had the dreams.

The liver inside the body had fulfilled the bladder. It felt like a sock full of marbles, warbling his guts like a choppy ocean persuading the body to escape the tethered web of remorse. It was too easy to dwell on the forgotten memories of the night past. Too simple to wonder what occurred and how he would apologize and redeem himself. He stuck to the bed like hot gum on a shoe.

He would not move, so he turned. The sheets crumbled and he lifted his feet to tuck the errant bit of cover under his cold feet. Success along the reminder that he must resume normal life. He wrinkled his face as the predator spider hung close, seeping over the remorse of wrinkled thought, enduring the ache the body wanted. The spider was ready. The body drowsy.

As the body determined to go, the spider flung with errant despair. It tried to bite. It tried to hang on, spinning in circles. The bod removed itself from the depressed state and stumbled to the bathroom while the spider waited in the drooping shade of the blinds. Morning awoke and the shadow of the spider scurried up the wall, a decadent symbol of the body tomorrow.

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