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The Fairy Fly Beginning

A Word Of Caution

 

Watch your step.  There is a world around us that is entirely wondrous, majestic, breathtaking, arcane, wild, frightful, perilous, and unbelievably fragile.  A fantastic world which exists in a parallel sense from machines and manmade boundaries, from rules and perpendicularities.  A realm we tend to ignore except when it overlaps and invades our comfort zones.  Yet we affect that world, aware of it or not, however careless or intentional.

I wrote this tale for the young and old, and everyone in between, to make people mindful of the perspectives and feelings of others with whom we share the planet.  It is their world too.

Although the story might be fictional and funny and only half-serious, everything large and small has a life with a purpose and is going about it the same as us.

So tread lightly in the world, for your sake and the sake of others.  We are not alone.  And that is a very wonderful thing.

 

 

one

 

Some days are flawless.  Perfect.  Nothing can go wrong.  The sun shines, birds sing, and flies buzz thicker than the hairs on a spider's back.

But there are some truly rotten, totally disastrous, terribly miserable days that you wish — with every teeny, atomic, microscopic fiber of your being — had never begun.

Which is exactly how Spider felt this cursed and dismal day after being jerked from a peaceful doze by a rude volcanic squall.

"HEY MOM!  WHERE'S MY FAVORITE SWEATER?  THE RED ONE!" a voice erupted.

Such a jarring conclusion to a lovely nap must foreshadow the end of the world, the jumper interpreted.  To a conservative sort of fellow it resounded like a major catastrophe.  Hunkering down, the spiderling trembled.  He had no idea what a sweater was, or for that matter a red sweater, or he might have chosen to flee.  The cute arachnid was busy minding his own business, perhaps his own beeswax too were he of the winged yellow and black persuasion.  Instead he was black and white and earthbound, not to mention ignorant of the fact that the snug pocket he discovered the night before was red, and attached to the sweater in question.  Until his cozy haven was abruptly snatched from its hanging place — upending Spider groggily on his noodle, hair and limbs askew.  It was most unsettling.

He adjusted his position within a silkspun sleeping-bag.  Two circular glossy green orbs gawped unblinking, flanked by smaller lenses.  Above on a square crown with a dorky hairdo were four modest eyes.  Vertical jaws — between tuft-like pedipalps (feelers) — protruded tuskishly from his mouth behind white and gray whiskers, hooks (his real teeth) jutting from the tips.

The spiderling's siblings had blue eyes and called him a green-eyed freak when he came out of his egg in the sac.  They called him other names because he was smaller.  As a result, he had stayed in the egg long after they left.

"It's in your closet!" answered a remote voice.

"YEAH, I FOUND IT!" the proximate voice blared.

The pocket bounced, jostling Spider, who flopped and groaned, snared in his own thread.  An eternity of bucking halted.  He slid to the base of his den grumbling about knots and sticky situations.

It reminded him of a hair-raising experience prior to locating this supposed sanctuary.  The spider was roving in his wide-eyed fashion, using furry feet to amble up an incline.  A mound led to a tunnel where he yodeled experimentally.  His voice echoed, startling him.  He yelped and scooted backwards to crawl into a humid cave.  As a jumping spider, he loved to you-know-what so he hopped repeatedly on the damp spongy floor.  The arachnid giggled.  A massive snore ensued, and the gust blew him in a ball onto a stubbled cliff.  The cavemouth disappeared.  He hiked to a pair of tinier shafts.  Which should he choose?  While debating this it became clear that he stood on the face of a sleeping giant, and he had heard in a fairytale being read by this giant to a much littler giant that one should never bother a sleeping giant.  Oh no!

It was harder to see something big when you were too close, he ascertained.  The pensive creature was cuffed off by a flinging gesture, forced to seek another lair.  And that, obviously, hadn't turned out so great.

Jangling set his hairs on end.

Shockwaves of boisterous shouts and chit-chat disquieted him.

An offensive slamming made him duck.

Spider's haven jolted then swept low, coming to rest inside a dim muffled enclosure.  The arachnid wormed out of his wrappings and picked himself from his face, scrabbling crookedly to the mouth of the pouch.  Could this day possibly get worse?

Strips of light pierced the gloom.  Spider dizzily wished he was one of those lazy webspinners so he could construct a bridge to the opposite side of a chasm where light beamed enticingly through a row of fissures.

The critter shook his brain to rid it of the notion.  A webwatcher!  How dull and adventureless.  Waiting, always waiting.  Who could live like that?  It would be boring, humdrum, an absolute bummer.

He could do this.  He was a jumper!  Anchoring his dragline, he poised himself then sprang over the divide, sailing into emptiness, belly inflated, wind whipping his smug countenance.  He was a hunter, a brave and daring stalker!  He was clever and —

Splat!  He had neglected to land on his feet.  Slowly the bruised arachnid swung, visage burning with humiliation and pain.

He smacked the first wall then gathered momentum, sinewy forelegs outstretched.  It took some arcs to achieve a foothold.  He needed to work on his agility.

Arriving at a crevice he cautiously peeked through, detaching his line.  "Wow."  A gulf of oddness greeted him.  A habitat completely unlike any he had known since leaving the egg-sac.

He was lost.

And not just a trifle lost.  Oh no, this was lost on a grand mind-bending scope of losticity.  A vastness so tremendous that it almost defied reason!

And that was actually, extremely, very lost.

Authors: 
Trilllogic Entertainment: 

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