‘What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.’
I rocked the strand of silk upon which I rested, lulling the faint breeze between my feet as I pondered the words Eirene last spoke to me. It was a warm afternoon, largely barren of insects. Hence the empty web. Mother clambered over to where I perched and dropped a chunk of the mosquito she had caught yesterday. I stayed my position, refusing to eat.
“Is it a small appetite again?” Mother rasped. “This is a young one, your favorite.”
I pricked the web, signaling my disinterest, and said nothing.
Mother’s eyes glinted. “Don’t tell me it’s that Eirene again. Filling your thoughts with those silly ideals. How are spiders expected to survive without food?”
“There’s no glory in trapping our prey the way we do,” I supposed.
Mother paused, then devoured my share of mosquito. “We spiders were never glorious beings to begin with.”
Word count: 145. For this week’s Finish-the-Story.