Fiction · Scene · Writing

Arachne

Sweet grapes overload your sense as you draw near to the origin. Trees are rough against your palms, guiding your stride, they have become your eyes. The brisk breeze pulls you deeper into the center of the forest. The ravens chorus chasing you, stalking you, they are hunting you. The trees have syrup applied to their bark; this is a new feel and without optics to tell what, this is alarming. The crushing of walnuts beneath your boots is still the same however. Trees have led you into a sticky trap, your arms are restricting, tightens as you contest. The binding is solid, substantial since your entire body is succumbing slowly, and the adhesive is callous and unforgiving. Fighting only makes the adhesive stronger, it’s a thief, stealing your will to fight. The forest began clicking. This isn’t the forest. The clicking was deafening and enclosing. Thick liquid drips down your face from above; the undisclosed liquid travels slowly down your cheek and across your lips. The clicking is right against your ears; the clicker is sucking in air profusely. The clickers limbs explore your body. Two, three, five, six, seven, eight. Eight limbs. The tips of the clickers limbs are needle sharp at the tip, carving up your clothes gently. The legs are shaggy; the hair makes your body twitch as the legs weave up and down. The clicker began wrapping you entirely in the adhesive. The clicker works hastily, never wasting a single movement, until your body is completely being encase. The adhesive is soft against your lips like silk. The blood in your head rushes as your body flips upside down suddenly. Dangling side to side as the clicking returns. It sounds, happy. The clickers drool drops across your jaw again and slides off your brow. Rustling in the leaves and it fades slowly away. Trying to use the momentum of the swing proven to be futile, the adhesive is just to secure. The blood rushing to your head is making you dizzy, and drowsy. I’m sorry love, I’m not going to make it.

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