Categories > Original > Drama
You Are the Spider
I can see you, so tiny and seemingly insignificant to the rest of the world. Everything about you screams at me to destroy, to rip your soul away from your worthless body like meat from a bone, to kick you out of this life without any shade of guilt or mercy.
It wouldn’t be murder, it would just be natural order; I am bigger, stronger, more in control, so it only makes sense for me to prove that to the world with your death. Not to mention the fact that you are gross, wrong. Like a crow flying among doves. That’s what you are; a withered, ugly thing of darkness in a world gasping for more light, for more beauty. So your death really would make sense.
Even in death though, you’d be a nuisance. I’d have your remains on my hands, a dirty smear on my flawless skin to remind that you once existed and that I, of all people, had to take the time out of my day to wash away your darkness.
I’d have to get dirty to cleanse you, to cleanse me; to cleanse the world of you.
Some of the others say that you have a soul, that I should care for you as though you are my long-lost brother. But that in itself is a pitiful excuse for an analogy, because you and I both know that we’re about as different as any two things can be. I’m like a shining star and you’re, well, you’re you. You just kind of are.
You are you and you are so deliciously killable that it almost makes my heart burn in mourning for what could have maybe been a useful life, if only you weren’t you.
Still, the point stands; I could kill you.
But I can’t though, not really. Because even if I did kill you, would you actually die? Sure, you’d be dead and cold and as gone as any living thing can be to everyone else, but to me you’d be so alive it would hurt. I’d never be able to forget your helplessness at my hands; your complete lack of defence; the innocence that I know you have hidden deep behind your misleading exterior.
If I were anyone else, anyone with a dangerous amount of conscience, I would kill you. I can’t though, not because you’re who you are, but because I am who I am and I know something that I don’t think the others understand.
To someone, anyone, else, I could be the spider. I could be you.
Anyone could be the spider; it’s just a matter of perspective.
A/N: I’ve had this floating around in my hollow little head for a while now and have finally managed to write it out. I guess it’s meant to be some big anti-bullying metaphor, but I kind of suck at metaphors and this doesn’t really make much sense, so sorry. But thanks for reading and please, please let me know what you think! :)
I can see you, so tiny and seemingly insignificant to the rest of the world. Everything about you screams at me to destroy, to rip your soul away from your worthless body like meat from a bone, to kick you out of this life without any shade of guilt or mercy.
It wouldn’t be murder, it would just be natural order; I am bigger, stronger, more in control, so it only makes sense for me to prove that to the world with your death. Not to mention the fact that you are gross, wrong. Like a crow flying among doves. That’s what you are; a withered, ugly thing of darkness in a world gasping for more light, for more beauty. So your death really would make sense.
Even in death though, you’d be a nuisance. I’d have your remains on my hands, a dirty smear on my flawless skin to remind that you once existed and that I, of all people, had to take the time out of my day to wash away your darkness.
I’d have to get dirty to cleanse you, to cleanse me; to cleanse the world of you.
Some of the others say that you have a soul, that I should care for you as though you are my long-lost brother. But that in itself is a pitiful excuse for an analogy, because you and I both know that we’re about as different as any two things can be. I’m like a shining star and you’re, well, you’re you. You just kind of are.
You are you and you are so deliciously killable that it almost makes my heart burn in mourning for what could have maybe been a useful life, if only you weren’t you.
Still, the point stands; I could kill you.
But I can’t though, not really. Because even if I did kill you, would you actually die? Sure, you’d be dead and cold and as gone as any living thing can be to everyone else, but to me you’d be so alive it would hurt. I’d never be able to forget your helplessness at my hands; your complete lack of defence; the innocence that I know you have hidden deep behind your misleading exterior.
If I were anyone else, anyone with a dangerous amount of conscience, I would kill you. I can’t though, not because you’re who you are, but because I am who I am and I know something that I don’t think the others understand.
To someone, anyone, else, I could be the spider. I could be you.
Anyone could be the spider; it’s just a matter of perspective.
A/N: I’ve had this floating around in my hollow little head for a while now and have finally managed to write it out. I guess it’s meant to be some big anti-bullying metaphor, but I kind of suck at metaphors and this doesn’t really make much sense, so sorry. But thanks for reading and please, please let me know what you think! :)
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