Oh, she’s beautiful, isn’t she? The black widow. Her glistening body, like midnight. Its’ darkness engulfing. It’s inviting. Imagining wrapping yourself around her and disappearing into the void indefinitely.
Eight eyes. Did one just wink at you? Eyes are the window to the soul, you know. If only you could get a little closer, then you could see how much of her is showing. What secrets lie beyond her pupils? And what lies?
Eight legs. One to pin you down, and another seven to catch you if you ever escape. One for every day of the week, and another for extra measure.
Now that you’re in her grasp you notice her red underside. Red like the roses she weaves her web on. Its captivating, the way the dew glimmers on the threads. How lush and how ripe. What a wonderful place to die, you think. And with such a wonderful woman.
She moves around you; your vibrations attract her. As she designs a straightjacket of silk for you. Oh, what a lovely gift! Isn’t she thoughtful? She wants to keep you forever. You and her, in the silver palace among the flowers.
She leans in. A kiss! Finally, you’ll know what love feels like. And isn’t it so painful, so exquisitely painful, as her fangs puncture your flesh?
She took your breath away. A paralysis. Yes, this is what I wanted, you think. As you close your eyes the world around you becomes the void, the blackness, the midnight she offered you.
And you wish you could stay with her. Love her longer. But always destined to be a widow; everyone she loves dies.
By MW. Second year Ryerson student, and lover of breathing. Someone who never knows what she’s doing but does everything with enthusiasm anyway.