By Abby Sherburne
I have this splendid little corner that I live in. Just between the radiator and the picture of Miss Webbuster’s grandson, Timmy, shoving a turkey leg in his mouth. Which I believe is quite wasteful considering he already enough around his mouth to satisfy him and Miss Webbuster combined. Actually, that’s a lie. Miss Webbuster is a huge woman.
All the same, it is a pleasant nook. So pleasant, in fact, that today I think I shall explore further up the wall. Moving away from the safety of one’s corner is risky business which I have only heard of from the ants as they scuttle by. But, having had a very productive morning creating three revolutions around the web, I feel as though I deserve an adventure. So, with cautious steps, I begin up the wall. Oh my, it is refreshing to view my nook from a different perspective. Yes, perhaps I’m not using the left side to its full potential. If I move the mosquito which I had been saving out of the middle and closer to the back it certainly would open up things quite a bit, yes. I have begun enjoying myself when suddenly I realize how dark it has become. That seems peculiar, however, considered it was just 23 arachnidnots past 58 last time I checked.
As I begin to make my way down the wall deciding to return the next day, I realize that the darkness seems to be moving. I stare at the shape on the wall as it seems to bounce left and right. I take my eyes off of the moving shadow and look out into the room, and there she is. There’s Miss Webbuster in a bristly legged squat teetering back and forth. Her flowered nightgown stretches across her hilly terrain like jam across too much toast. The worn out fabric hugging her lumpy thighs makes me uncomfortable. I focus on the newspaper she is holding as her veiny man hands twist it tighter and tighter until it is in a stiff cylindrical shape. Webbuster shuffles ever closer with the newspaper outstretched. Her beady yellow eyes begin to bulge as she raises the newspaper above her lumpy head.
It is in this moment that I realize that perhaps following the scuttling ants’ advice was not such a wise idea. I always knew there was something funny about the fact that I never see the same one twice…