Spiders

I haunt this website sometimes. There have been plenty of times I’ve had something to say, to everyone or to one person or sometimes to no-one at all. This is the first time I’ve done anything about it.

If I had to choose, I think it would be heroin. An overdose of it. The circumstances are impossible for me to achieve, but if I had a choice, that would be it.

This time, I learned how to tie a noose. It was very quick. Simple. Elegant, when it was finished. I waited until the house was empty. No-one said goodbye as they left, just as they rarely say good morning either. I watched them leave from the window like a starving beggar, pressed against the window of a fast food outlet and hungry, so hungry in my gaze. I could have watched forever, but they soon fell out of sight.

I took the chair, positioned it at the top of the stairs. I caught sight of my bare legs in the mirror that hangs above the toilet. Pale, mottled. Even beautiful. Unusually thin from this angle. It distantly occured to me that perhaps it is fitting my body should only look its best when devoid of life. The clasps to the loft were tight; I pulled. There was sure to be a rafter waiting. Just a tiny little bit further.

I caught it out of the corner of my eye. Spindly legs like twine, balled up and clinging blindly to the chipped vanilla paint. A small dead spider. I am not afraid of them — I just do not like them to be on my skin. Denial at its finest, I’m sure, although I am admittedly quite capable of sticking a jar over an eight-legged intruder and accompanying it outside. Still, it bothered me as I lifted up one edge of the square wooden block covering the hole above me. Spiders could pour out even if I lifted it a little higher. Spiders might crawl over my cadaver all day whilst I swung like a pendulum, counting down the minutes until the gruesome discovery.

A few minutes passed whilst I stood there. I got down. I put the chair back. I made a cup of tea, whilst the window cleaner tried to look like he wasn’t gawping through the kitchen window at my mostly naked bottom half. It didn’t bother me.

And now here I sit in front of my computer, as if I’d never left. Another perfect opportunity, another failure. One I shall keep to myself. I feel terribly cold.