My Lovely Little Friends, they aren’t who you would expect. No, they hide in the crevices of your walls, the folds of your curtains and under the bed in which you slumber. They watch you day and night, waiting for their time to roam your halls freely. While you curl up on the couch, snacking on fatty chips and that ‘last’ glass of wine, they watch, they wait.
What a pretty little broach you have on, such bright colors, such whimsy. I love grasshoppers too they think. There is nothing more satisfying than piercing of its exoskeleton, the kick of its feet. The struggle only a grasshopper can give. Its strengths is unparalleled to any other, there is such pleasure in the final twitches and then that moment it fully surrenders to its fate.
Oh my lovely little friends, my sweet eight-legged venom injecting friends. That beautiful shiny broach, it beckons. Just a visit, a short one to say a neighborly “hello”. She won’t mind a bit, perhaps even notice courtesy of that nearly empty bottle of wine. Her glass is half full, she shouldn’t mind a bit.
It’s such a short distance from this lonely crack in the wall. Up the soft velvety couch, across the warm cozy blanket. It’s right in front of me, my beautiful friend, my sweet grasshopper. “Hello my friend, why do you not greet me?” Oh, poor thing perhaps a little closer, I’ll lean in to hear it’s whispers… shy perhaps? Contemplates my little eight-legged friend.
A bit closer, I’ll hold you if you please. Oh poor thing, it must be cold allow me to knit you a warm blanket, which should make you more comfortable. Thinks the arachnid.
What? A kiss you say, I don’t know. We’ve only just met. But who am I to deny you? After all, I did make this long harsh trip to spend time with you and you alone. A kiss would be just fine. Ponders the arachnid.
Oh the loud shrill scream, the thrashing and pain. My legs, they must be broken, oh the pain. The absolute confusion as my sweet little eight legged friend is thrust into the air. What could it have done? The lady on the couch is running, her piercing scream boggles the mind. What could have set her off?
The injured spider slowly drags her broken body back into the crevice. Not all was lost; there is sweet nectar on her fangs. Its crimson color mixes with venom. What a lovely taste, what a wonderful texture. Perhaps the grasshopper did give me a kiss, oh that vixen. Till next time we meet, I’ll be watching, waiting.
*this story has also been shared on bentmom’s sister site Bringingthedarknessin.com (both sites belong to me and are ran by Irene B. Smithi)
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