Inktober

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Flash Fiction: Spider Moon

My spider has a moon on its back. It’s not a big one. Don’t be silly. It’s small, like my spider. In fact, you might not see it unless you get close. Really, really close. I know you won’t because of the eight legs and eight eyes thing, but you’re missing out. The moon is translucent and shiny—a rare precious gem. You might even call it pretty. I like to stare at it before bed and sometimes even touch it. My spider doesn’t mind. It likes me.

The moon affects the way my spider moves and feeds. Full moon days it must find a quiet place to lay because it’s weighed down by the gravity of it. On new moon days, it hunts. Some insects have learned this cycle and can avoid becoming prey. They are the smart ones. Plenty aren’t so bright; my spider finds them and fills its stomach. Drinks them up.

Now, dear, you must ask yourself an important question on this dark, dark night. Do I have a moon on my back? You see, we are alone in this room. You are close enough I can hear your heart beating and feel the warmth of your skin. Am I the kind of creature who feeds in the dark or the light? You tell me.

Author’s note: This tiny story was inspired by the second day of Inktober prompt “spider.” It’s my attempt at a campfire tale. Let me know what you think!

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Poetry: Dream With Me

It’s a cave. No, it’s a mouth. I’m standing on the tongue trying not to be swallowed but I find the warmth alluring. It’s almost like a siren song but I can’t hear it. What if I let myself go?

Action accompanies thought and I slide gently backward. I’ve turned into little Alice, all blue and white. Clicking my feet together three times I land beside the white rabbit but he’s got fangs and he tries to bite my ankles. “No,” I say but my words come out as meows. I’ve got whiskers and a hankering to find a spot to lay in the sun but it’s only skin all around me.

Is it tea time yet? A tidal wave of Mint Majesty knocks me off my feet and I tumble further and further down until I come out into the bright sunshine. I’m not inside anymore, I think, but maybe I’ve reached the center. Giant sunflowers surround a not-yellow house with a white picket fence. Voices call from inside but they are madness and I cover my ears so I don’t hear them. Too late. “Curl up into a ball,” they say.

I’m rolling now along a path lined by oceans on both sides. Starfish leap at me but I’m too fast. My bowling ball self hits the pins and someone yells “Strike” but before I can celebrate I’m in the cave again. No, it’s a mouth. This time I’ll do things differently.

Author’s note: I’m participating in Inktober this year by writing the prompt instead of making a drawing. This poem was my response to “dream.”