Fly on The Wall

My life is extraordinary. I sit and wait eagerly for my next meal, each harvest more bountiful than the last. Those tasty little flies come in droves like clockwork. Fools hypnotized by a feast of their own, dozens at a time fall victim to my venom. Their insides become mush underneath my fangs. Corpses tangled in twine litter this basement of mine. It isn’t all great though, the pleas for help vibrate my webs in an unpleasant manner. And the occasional promise of food only to be revealed as drops of human blood is nauseating, but the screams always cease in the end. So I will remake my home as many times as it takes and hatch as many spiderlings as my body will permit me. Admittedly, I’ve grown fat and slow from this infinite buffet of insects.  As long as that man lives here, the bodies will continue to pile. From one ambush predator to another, I admire his work. The way he makes them suffer, puts my methods to shame. I inspire to be as cruel and gruesome as he, a master at his craft. I wonder if he too, does what he does out of need for survival or perhaps it derives more from personal pleasure. I wonder if he sees me, a creature of opportunity, like I see him, an equal.