Metamorphoses by Clark Theriot

August 16, 2012 Comments Off on Metamorphoses by Clark Theriot

Her plan envelops me, as she tangles and intricately knits her web.

I am lost and was content on staying that way.  My life is only a moment, I know it is absurd. I like to eat, drink, and move in a small radius near me. I have brown, grey and blue stipples on my back that continue down my six legs. I can hardly see, but I can feel and smell — like the web maker I am so inclined to be near.

Yes, I once made webs, but I have changed. I cautiously receive my food by accident it seems, but I eat, even if far and between. I do eat.

But today, I have stopped eating. I only want food from her web. She fed me once, and now I only want her food. She will feed me again, one day, when she is ready to take pause from her weaving. I will wait. I have waited before. I may starve waiting; it seems likely this time. I am growing too weak.

All six of my legs are weak. I can barely move, but I wait. I wait for her to return to the side of her web in which I am tangled.

Sometimes I wish I had the wide, orange and black wings of a butterfly.

But I don’t. I am turning one color, and it is light grey. I am only alive for a moment. But I love the beauty I am trapped near, and she loves me, too. I only hope for a few more moments, if not to eat, at least to have our combined fourteen legs entwined.

© 2012 Clark Theriot

Clark Theriot lives and writes in New Orleans. His work can be found in 3: AM Magazine and purchased in Monolith Magazine’s BORDERS Issue. He may soon move to a place he can pause and reflect and write, more.

Comments are closed.

What’s this?

You are currently reading Metamorphoses by Clark Theriot at Flash Fiction Musings for The Literary Minded.

meta