Today, I found a new home.
No sunlight. Just warmth—gentle, dry warmth. No more drowning in the rains or waking to water flooding my walls. No wind. No predators. Just a narrow gap between the aluminum window frame and the wall. Cozy. Quiet. Perfect.
A paradise.
I didn't count how many houses I've built with these eight legs of mine—maybe too many to remember. But this one felt different. Special. Safe.
My silk flowed from my back, smooth and endless. I don't know why it comes out—it just does. Maybe that's how it is for us. Or maybe I'm just smarter than the others. Smarter than instinct. Smarter than fear.
Yes… I must be.
Here, no rent to pay, no landlord to bite me mid-meal. And food? Delivered fresh. Winged and buzzing, every night. I merely wait. I strike. I feast. God must truly love me to make me this clever.
Then the metal gate creaked.
The monster returned.
Two-legged. Loud. Always wearing different-colored skin. I've watched it scratch itself for no reason. Truly strange creatures. Today, it smelled of something sweet and sour—artificial. I stayed still, hidden in my silk haven.
The monster's voice echoed through the house.
"MOM! How many times have I told you—close the sliding window before evening! Look how many mosquitoes got in!"
I didn't understand the words. Just the tone.
Danger.
The creature stomped closer, heavy steps sending tremors through my sanctuary. My hairs tingled. My silk shivered. Still, I didn't run. I was smart, after all. I built it strong. I built it right.
But then came the end.
A massive object—cold, silver, blunt—slammed into my home.
Silk tore. Wood cracked. My body flew, weightless, then smashed against the other wall.
Pain.
I couldn't move. I couldn't think. Just the crushing realization—
I was wrong.
As my legs twitched their last, a single question drifted through my fading mind:
Was I ever truly intelligent?