The Abhorrent Little Spider

I was wrapping a present during twilight, the night before my father's birthday.

I sat on the cold and disorganized concrete floor of the basement.

While shifting my weight, I noticed a traveling spider:

Eight thin precarious legs carried a body the size of a sesame seed; so delicate and small.

We glanced at each other for a moment. I was scared, terrified, full of disgust,

As it looked at me with its invisible eyes, I remembered the many that came before.

So many I had killed for the price of being small; I have lost count.

I wonder what they thought in their last moments?

"Please don't kill me, I don't want to die. I have so much left to give."

The thought made me sad for how cruel I was.

I believed I was righteous and good, and it was an ugly evil abhorrent creature.

In my mind I was the ruler of the judge's gavel, smashing their beings into space dust. Saving myself from some imaginary threat.

This time, I decided to show mercy to the little spider.

It was not thick with venom and possessed no obscene appearance,

For when I looked closer, I could see its beauty.

Black like the igneous rock scattered on the surface of our Earth,

Fragile, chipped, and resilient;

Comparable even to myself.

Your life is so short and your body so small,

"You choose a path that led us to share a moment in each other's fleeting existence,

And for that, you do not deserve to die."

It spared me one last glance of caution,

I shifted my tired ankles as it scurried back to its home under layers of lost memories and wrapping paper.

And so, I tied off my father's present into a bow,

And the spider weaved its thread into a comforting home, both secure.

This time, I let it live.