The Spider and the Curious Boy

I am not a villain.

I was just being a spider, doing what spiders do in the woods. I wasn’t asked to be a part of any experiment. All I ever wanted was to be in a tree, spinning a web, catching flies. Flies are much tastier than the sodium serum they force feed me here three times a day. I was content to remain where I was, but when the glass beaker came over me, I was trapped. I had heard of others being taken in this fashion by curious boys. They were usually brought back here after a day or two.

I’ve been in this sterile place for weeks. My body has expanded, I look pregnant, but I’m not. There are other specimens, but I am the only arachnid, alone in my glass cage. I have trouble sleeping, and when I do, strange thoughts invade my mind. That is why when I saw him, I thought it was one those fuzzy dreams. But it was real, that curious boy was in the lab. But why? He came over, picked up the glass cover, and plucked me between his thumb and forefinger. I did not mean to bite him, it was just a reflexive response. He dropped me back into the glass container and stormed out, cursing. I realized the anger, which had been growing in me since I was brought to the lab, had transferred to him in that moment of mouth to hand contact.

There was scuttlebutt around the lab about what would happen to Peter Parker. Would he turn violent?

I’ll never know.

My body has become dry and brittle. I feel myself drifting away—death is imminent.

Goodbye and good luck Peter Parker, you curious boy.