The room is
dimly lit with florescent light. Things are scattered apart, an aged bed with a
fluffy mattress but without a bed cover, a dressing table crowded with books,
empty bottles of cheap whisky, a coffee mug filled with cigarette buds. The view of the room is clouded by smoke
coming from a cigarette, which has not been dabbed for the last three
minutes. A man is gazing pointlessly at
his laptop screen, trying to rise above the level of mediocrity by burning the
night lamp for a crucial upcoming project. His, being oblivious to both the
world outside and Beethoven, which is playing softly in the background suggests
a life of struggle, maybe not for survival, but definitely for creative
recognition.
Entangled in a web, Spidey attempts to
dislodge himself from a self created mess. A mess which reminds him of his position,
pendulating between a glorious past and a possibly desolate future, blobbed in
a puddle of salivary strands surrounded by undigested limbs and other body
parts of a delicious memory. With a celebrated lineage of fearful hunters to
back him up, spidey has inherited a natural confidence which gives him an
intuitive understanding about survival. His
instinct, at the moment, is conking and vibrating, sending signals of
evacuation to his tiny brain. A factory has been established recently in the
vicinity of his habitat, which has a detachable chimney, emitting toxic fumes
in short intervals, particularly driving away all possible forms of life from
the surrounding. Spidey, being a survivor, takes it up as a challenge to brave
out the adversity of his time. He is all alone; some of his tribe members have
perished; guarding the familial lair and others have abandoned the tribal heritage
by escaping to greener pastures. But he would not give it up so easily. He is the
last survivor, this is the place where he belongs; this is the places where his
progenitors prospered, the lair has given him his sense of identity. How could
he abandon it?
Words escape
the mind of the man. He struggles, he smokes and he drinks. He wants to
hallucinate as that might give him some ideas but something stops him. He
smokes some more, drinks some more and struggles some more. Something is
keeping him from flying. He feels encumbered by an unexplainable burden. What
is the reason for his condition? He
stares blankly at his at his laptop screen. Tomorrow is the D-day; he has to
get his project designed for an anti smoking campaign ready somehow by tomorrow
morning. The voice of his boss, which
keeps on ringing in his ear, makes him uncomfortable and sweaty. He lights a
cigarette. Just then, from the corner of
his eyes, he notices a movement. Gently turning his head, he tries to focus his
gaze on the source which has distracted his attention. A tiny black spider in
the crevices of the wall attempts to pitch itself in a translucent web. It seems to be struggling to for some reason.
He senses an agitation as he watches the spider hopping and balancing back and
forth within the orifices of its netting.
‘What
are you looking at?’ he suddenly hears a voice. Did the spider just speak
to him? Are you laughing at my condition? Now this is serious. The man
grabs the opened and half emptied bottle of whiskey and smells it. He is
definitely hallucinating now. He checks for an expiry date and then he
remembers that liquors do not have expiry dates. To get a closer look, he
inches forward towards the web. Now don’t
you come any further, You have already done enough damage. In a state of shock the man looks at the
spider. The sensation of being watched by a dozen pair of eyes makes him feel
confused about his emotions. Can you hear
me?
Yes
I can, you dumbass. You can do whatever you like to scare me off. But let me tell you, I am
not moving. Even if I die here, I won’t budge from my place. Get that clear in
your nut.
What?
But I didn’t even know that you existed.
The man takes a
closer look at the spider. What do you want spider man?
Ohhh!
Do you really want to know? Well then
let me tell you, that whatever you smoke all the time might be a recreation to
you. But it has taken a lot of lives. The smoke has wiped my entire clan. I am
the last survivor. And I promise you that I will take my revenge. If I was of your size I would have eaten you
long time back. That would have done the world some good at least. But you know
what? But I am still going to fight you.
Do you want to see how? I can get inside your head. You don’t believe me? BOOOOOO.
The man wakes up
with a start. He had slipped off to sleep. He can smell the burning of the
cigarette bud. The smoke has clouded the
room. He looks up at the ceiling. He sees an abandoned spider web. He looks for
the spider everywhere, but no signs.
Some time passes .He gets back to his work. Now he has an idea. What a stupid dream, but it surely was a useful one, he
utters cackling to himself. He remembers
the he needs to wash his face before he settles down with his work. He goes to
the washroom; look at his own face admiring his unkempt shabbiness. As he turns
the knob of the tap, he is over come by a strange feeling. Something rings
inside his head.
I
hope you haven’t forgotten me, I have kept my promise.
