02-12-2020, 12:49 AM
The wind blew over him, passing the hard exterior of his carapace, giving a gentle tug at each of the hairs it touched - a message was in that wind. Something telling him to wake up, that he had been asleep for too long, that he had to wake up now lest he never wake up again. He always hated the wind, pulling at his sensitive hairs, as if trying to grab him and take him somewhere, but succeeding only in annoying him. Making him uncomfortable. That was enough to get him to wake up, though.
His eyes opened. Light filtered into them.
He didn't see.
It wasn't that long ago that he started going blind. Maybe a month, at most, if he was calculating correctly. Now, he wasn't just legally blind, he was physically blind, eyes turning the color of freshly fallen snow, slightly milky, a far cry from the verdant emeralds of his past. It seemed a combination meditative trance and hibernation couldn't solve his problems - though what did he expect, really, if not to wake up blinder than when he slept. What did he really think he was doing other than running away from the problem, hoping the gentle hold of unconsciousness - or as close as his body could get to it - would ease himself.
It didn't.
It still felt like there was something missing, something integral.
But he had to get up now, out of his web. Had to do something. He had gone through worse and come out better, he told himself. He'd spent years alone, and he wasn't going to isolate himself just because he couldn't see. So, with a fire rushing through his blood, he descended from the web that had housed him for these past weeks, and headed straight for his old house. He could only hope that nobody took it up while he was gone.
Nobody had, of course, but he would have seen it as a suitable punishment for his absence. Not like he needed it anyways; the breezes were light, most days, and he could avoid the worst of them with a quickly made blanket, or something similar - perhaps he should carry one with him? Even though he had the supplies to make any such thing on his person at all times, it never hurt to save some of that time. Then again, he would look a bit silly; a spider crawling along, toting a silk blanket as white as his eyes. As if he was a baby, grasping on to an anchor of comfort in the harsh tides of reality.
Perhaps he wouldn't make a personal sheet after all.
Thoughts such as these invaded his mind, guests that came and went, each one uninvited but not unwelcome. He wondered if people missed him. That was unlikely, of course, since he had only really interacted with one or two choice denizens of the clan. Perhaps it would be better to ask if people noticed he was gone, something which he was less sure of the answer to - he wasn't the most active, no, but surely people would notice the sudden absence of a spider, yes?
Would they be mad that he disappeared for a bit without any explanation? That he didn't have the time to think about, as he arrived at his doorstep, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, entered into the silk-lined domicile, marching around to figure out what next to do with his life.
He left the door open, which might have been a conscious act, a symbol of invitation to the world, or it might have simply been a mistake that he made.
His eyes opened. Light filtered into them.
He didn't see.
It wasn't that long ago that he started going blind. Maybe a month, at most, if he was calculating correctly. Now, he wasn't just legally blind, he was physically blind, eyes turning the color of freshly fallen snow, slightly milky, a far cry from the verdant emeralds of his past. It seemed a combination meditative trance and hibernation couldn't solve his problems - though what did he expect, really, if not to wake up blinder than when he slept. What did he really think he was doing other than running away from the problem, hoping the gentle hold of unconsciousness - or as close as his body could get to it - would ease himself.
It didn't.
It still felt like there was something missing, something integral.
But he had to get up now, out of his web. Had to do something. He had gone through worse and come out better, he told himself. He'd spent years alone, and he wasn't going to isolate himself just because he couldn't see. So, with a fire rushing through his blood, he descended from the web that had housed him for these past weeks, and headed straight for his old house. He could only hope that nobody took it up while he was gone.
Nobody had, of course, but he would have seen it as a suitable punishment for his absence. Not like he needed it anyways; the breezes were light, most days, and he could avoid the worst of them with a quickly made blanket, or something similar - perhaps he should carry one with him? Even though he had the supplies to make any such thing on his person at all times, it never hurt to save some of that time. Then again, he would look a bit silly; a spider crawling along, toting a silk blanket as white as his eyes. As if he was a baby, grasping on to an anchor of comfort in the harsh tides of reality.
Perhaps he wouldn't make a personal sheet after all.
Thoughts such as these invaded his mind, guests that came and went, each one uninvited but not unwelcome. He wondered if people missed him. That was unlikely, of course, since he had only really interacted with one or two choice denizens of the clan. Perhaps it would be better to ask if people noticed he was gone, something which he was less sure of the answer to - he wasn't the most active, no, but surely people would notice the sudden absence of a spider, yes?
Would they be mad that he disappeared for a bit without any explanation? That he didn't have the time to think about, as he arrived at his doorstep, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, entered into the silk-lined domicile, marching around to figure out what next to do with his life.
He left the door open, which might have been a conscious act, a symbol of invitation to the world, or it might have simply been a mistake that he made.
tags - "speech"
