The Fly's Favorite Spider
A Fable Written at Wauke-Con 2024
He hates making webs. Whenever the sticky string comes out, his eight shaky hands can’t seem to tangle them in the right way. The others watch, judging their brother with thousands of rolling eyes. They are tired of sharing their flies. The youngest of the hatchlings point their hairy little fingers and laugh with their wild mandibles dripping venomous spit.
“I’m trying my best!” shouts Angelo. He tangles himself, frustrated with the ridiculing horde. The other webs are complete and stunning. Every centimeter is instinctually in its perfect place. The white stained-glass windows nod to the rhythm of the gentle midnight wind. Angelo curses the beauty under his blood-stench breath.
Angelo crawls to the left, wiggles to the right, hops down, and falls up, and finishes his web with a defeated groan.
Then come the flies. The chaotic creatures bumble their way out of the trash cans and dung piles to find a fine place to settle down. Only a few find enough peace to lay eggs and continue the brutal cycle of predator and prey. The others aren’t so lucky. These poor souls are sucked in by the beauty of Angelo’s siblings’ nightly masterpieces.
Angelo waits in the center of his mess. He feels the thread loosen its knitted frame from his weight alone. He knows the others are watching him, finishing their meals.
“It’s definitely… original,” one fly says, buzzing right through without thinking.
“Yeah, and accessible,” a second, more energized fly says with a rusty raspy bug voice. “I don’t like thinking too hard after a big dumpster feast. This web is easy to visit!”
“I love it!” cries a third fly, happy to fly right through it.
Angelo watches with his eight wet eyes, wishing he had wings.