THE WIDOW'S TALE

by J. Chris Lawrence

Ours was a curious love.

He would come every day, spending his time working on what I heard him call his "Classic Chevy"; a gargantuan beast of rust and steel, he spoke to it like a female. And I was always his lucky one.

A young spider, fresh on her web, I watched each evening as he shuffled through the door, killing any he found. The tragedy was that none of us had any way of knowing before we made our nest. It was a game of chance, and I just happened to weave mine safely out of the way; between a window pane and shelf in a corner.

Nevertheless, even the more discreet of us would suffer the fate eventually. If he was not in any such of a rush and caught sight of us along the wayside, he would stop, glaring closely into our eyes.

Then came the spray.

I watched how they writhed and twitched as the sickly sweet fumes infected the air. They would try to wash it off, but I suspect that only made it worse. It was a slow, painful death, and when it occurred, each of us simply stared on. In our hearts, we knew our time would come as well.

It had been a rather fruitful night when he finally came my way, his massive eyes glistening mere inches from my body. But there would be no spray. He simply stared as I wrapped and twisted a fly, binding it like the other I had managed to already catch.

"Good job," echoed his titanic voice.

I wasn't sure what he meant at first. Yet days passed and still the spray did not come. The following night I caught another, while the next, luck served me with three. I had grown rich with food, the only web cluttered with them, and as my collection expanded, he would come by, his massive face spreading into a grin, showing large, pale teeth.

"Good job, you get those bastards!" he'd bellow.

In time, I became the only remaining survivor. I thought perhaps that I was special. With each pest I fed upon there came his lovely smile; and I was growing, as was my web. Molting and aging, I admired my long, darkening legs. I would lavish in their lithe grace and power as I fell upon the prey, my fangs injecting a spray of my own.

I was safe and rich in my little corner.

One day, as the last of the amber leaves outside danced adrift on frigid winds, I caught sight of a rather beautiful change. My dull orange markings had finally grown into a vibrant, piercing crimson! Such a rich contrast against the fresh, deep obsidian of my body. I knew he would come as he always did, and I was eager and proud to show him my pretty new form.

That evening, I lay on my web, upside down, pleased with myself. Yet as he entered, he turned to me with eyes wide, and my heart sank as that precious smile turned to sneer.