c.a. davis

// filmmaker | editor | storyteller \\

Flash #1: the Spider

It was nine o'clock.

It was very dark and the stars were out. There was a dog howling and yipping across the street. Somewhere, obscured by a concrete-walled garage, rang out the wales and screams of a live death metal band.

Guy stared at the night sky from his front lawn. He was laying down. He was asleep but just woke after dreaming of a strange, thorny spider. His arms were stretched out beside him as bugs nibbled and crawled along his fleshy parts. He held up his forearm and examined it closely. A large red ant stopped and lifted its pincers straight at Guy's face.

"Hey there, fella," whispered Guy to the ant.

The ant dug its pincers into Guy's forearm and its gaster sunk down as it pulled, roughly, one hundred times its own weight of Guy's pale skin.

Guy shot up from the grass in one panicked jolt. He screamed like Topher Grace, who screams a lot like the wimpy kid you once knew down the block when you were about ten or thirteen, who always screamed at things.

Guy flicked the ant off his arm and said, "Fuck," in a surprisingly calm tone. He pulled his arm millimeters from his brow but it was too dark to see that the ant had left no mark behind whatsoever.

A car drove by and honked its horn. It was two quick honks that sounded quite friendly. Guy frowned. He hadn't met anybody in the subdivision since moving two days earlier.

He sighed and walked up the stairs leading to his front door then felt the sticky silk clinging to face. And his neck. And his bare arms. He didn't scream, however, but stood still when the dollar coin-sized arachnid crawled across his forehead.

He just let it be.