Mr Spider, my wings are old and weak and do not flap, cried back the fly.
Age has us all become decrepit and weak.
I'd like to laugh, but I think I'd die.
Old friend Mr Fly, I will engage...time has passed I won't deny, but I did not bargain for pain and age.
The order for slow death I will deny.
Mr Spider you are wise...it suits one of many feet as me with many eyes...but age we must and death we greet.
Well then...You first old friend...
And Mr Spider reached over and bit the head off Mr Fly.
The many eyeballs of Mr Fly popped and crunched like so many bubble wrapped Gummy Bears.
The morning sun was up and felt good on Mr Spider's back.
It was only 9 in the morning, and Mr Spider wondered what he would do with the rest of his day.
Written while involved in Alfred DePew's writing course. West End, Vancouver 2011.