Mercy

The inch of gap between the flower pot and the ground was moist, dark, and everything a simple spider could dream of. Upon discovering it, that simple spider had made that area under the pot its humble home, and a month having passed, it could finally say that it had somewhat settled down. The beginnings of webs had begun to be strung on the pots bottom, the cement floor where the container rested had been cleaned of debris, and the spider was ready to invite its spider friends over for a housewarming party. After all, especially in this economy, it wasn’t easy for a spider to find a decent place to live so of course the occasion had to be celebrated.

The happy spider stood resting on the pot's bottom on one of the webs it had hung just the other day. It was a mighty fine piece of work if the spider did say so itself. The pattern, the attention to detail, the craftsmanship…immaculate. Had the heat been any less extreme, the spider would have already been on its way handing out invites, eight at a time obviously, but despite the pot’s protection, the floor was flaming hot like a chip.

Almost as if the universe had heard the spider’s need for respite from the sweltering temperatures, cool water came trickling from a hole in the pot’s bottom. The spider had never understood what that hole was for, nay it had only ever appreciated it as tasteful decor. Now, however, it appreciated it for reasons far greater.

But it did not at all appreciate what happened next.

The spider’s newfound home was heaved into the air by a higher power clearly strong enough to lift five pounds with ease. And the water that had just been the spider’s source of comfort became its source of despair. A powerful jet totally unlike the prior gentle drops ripped the spider off the surface it so desperately struggled to cling to with furious vigor. As the spider was blasted with unrelenting force, it choked and sputtered and prayed to all gods kind that it would be able to live to see another day. It had yet to find a spider spouse to raise a spider family with, it had yet to read the latest release from its favorite spider author, it had yet to try its spider friend’s–a spider chef–fly porridge, and most of all it had yet to tell I love you to its spider mom in the past week.

Almost as soon as it had started, the torrent of terror stopped. Shivering, gasping for air, the spider stood. The pot that it had made its home was in sight, thankfully–it was a bit far off but that was hardly a problem for the arachnid whose legs were built for speed. However, though the spider was alive and thought its house was likely still in prime condition for guests, there would be no visiting friends today. No, the spider had murder on its mind. What it had just experienced was burning fresh in its memory and it desired vengeance. It desired to bring the same pain to the being who had caused it the senseless suffering.

No doubt about it that the entity responsible for the spider’s recent grief was the towering figure wielding a tube of green. Yes, it was that tube of green that had spewed the relentless flow that drove the poor spider into the ground. The spider remembered it all too well.

Scuttling with a vigor that only madness could allow, the spider flew toward the entity who was slowly but surely moving away. The spider was faster: it caught up with ease. But before the spider could do what it felt had to be done, before it could stab its fangs into the creature and release a jet of its own, the spider felt a sensation unlike one it had ever known.

The spider felt its mind had been grabbed by a firm pair of hands, and those hands were shaking its brain firmly, as if its brain was a bowl with jello inside it and the hands were trying to get the jello to jiggle. Well, the spider felt like its brain was jiggling all right. It was over in mere seconds, and without knowing how, without knowing why, the spider felt words in the entity’s tongue spilling from its lips.

“Why did you do that?”

The entity stopped moving, and although the spider could not see it, it felt in its heart of hearts that the entity had turned to look at it.

“Do what?” it replied, the powerful vibrations of its voice causing the spider to tremor.

“Send me flying from my home with that hosing. I never did you no wrong.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to kill you, but I had to remove you from that pot while I moved it.”

“You could’ve let me be.” The spider felt its voice cracking with rage and with sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” said the entity again, though they sounded no more sincere this time then they had the first. “I’ll keep an eye out for you next time.”

That was the end of that. The entity, feeling that whatever mission they were on had been completed and whatever grievances that were being held against them had been absolved, resumed walking. The spider felt itself forget how to form the sounds that had just allowed it to communicate with a being so different, and along with that it felt itself forgetting its thirst for revenge. It knew now that such a thing was futile. The short conversation had shown the spider that it was really nothing but a speck in the universe, and whether it lived or died, and what fortune it faced was at the mercy of powers it could never hope to understand. What need was there for revenge when faced with the crippling weight of existentialism.

And so, the spider returned to its spider home and climbed up its spider walls, wondering to itself, was that really mercy it had been shown?