Max lay on his bed, sheets unfurled about him. He was hot and sweat clung to his body like an LA smog. His arms crossed above his head, staring upwards, watching a house fly crawl across the ceiling. He was thinking that he should get up and get going, but he couldn't remember where he was supposed to get to.
The fan by his bed was steadily blowing the air on him, cooling the body but not the mind. His brain, the size of Venus, was on standby waiting for the switch on the power bar to be turned on.
He watched the fly take off from the ceiling and head elsewhere, when suddenly it got caught in a spider's web. The fly trying to break free, its wings fluttering fast, pulling back, but in its attempt it alerted the web's creator.
Max watched the drama unfold. The spider crawled from its hiding spot to consume the blood of its victim. The fly sensing danger fluttered faster but it was a futile effort. The web held it fast. The spider began to pick up pace, but before it reached the target it disappeared.
Max, still lying on the bed, had pulled out a gun from behind a pillow. He was holding it skyward; smoke drifted from the barrel as if it had finished a sexual encounter.
"Not today," he said.
No comments:
Post a Comment