Post by los on Jul 29, 2007 1:41:10 GMT -5
The Itsy, bitsy spider was climbing, but this wasn't anything new.
What no one realized was that the reason he was climbing was for love.
No one saw him, of course. New York was a great center of the static world, but also one bursting with creativity, with adaptation. Manhattan had an energy of creation and establishment to be found in few places of the world. However, most of that wonder was still stuck between adults. They lacked the brilliance to see the underlying magical world, where wonder and innocence held sway. Wonder, innocence, and something a little darker as well. Not every dream and vision of the world was light and wondrous. And some, a rare few, were mixed almost evenly between love and horror.
Now, Itsy was climbing one of Manhattan's most recognizable landmarks, the great building which rose up its skyline to shimmer with metallic arches that cut the skyline. It raised the arch of the Romans hundreds of feet in the air, shining with a brilliant light that hinted at an older, American dream. Normally, for the little spider, such a trip would be a mere inconvenience. He would have to carry only a small bundle, usually wrapped in his silk, of food to eat en route to the summit. Even now, he did. Itsy had two ropes of silk pincered between his little mandibles. One rope was attached to the package of three silk-enshrouded hot dogs, stolen from a vendor, which were banging on his back. The other was attached to a heavy, but very important sack, wrapped in pure silk, that was much larger than the spider himself.
“Bru...” the little spider complained about his assent. The weight he hauled was taxing, and taking a rest usually meant creeping up to a ledge and then hauling his burden up to his level before stopping. That taxed his strength more than a simple climb did, but he did have the stamina to make the entire climb without breaks. Laying his parcel down on the ledge, he stopped, crawling to the window and peering within. Inside, there was some Office Drone. Office Drones, at least as far as Itsy could figure, were a species of ant that would crawl into the great mounds of the Big City and then sequester themselves in chambers. They would work for the Queen until the Queen had sucked them dry of the vital spark. Now, what was -funny- to him was that it appeared there were only -some- Drones in each mound. Some of the little worker ants managed to remain as vital and fluid every day as they had been since they entered the office. And he was never sure where the Drones would be, or those whom the Queen spared from the death of their spark. Itsy just knew that -some- Drones were nearly dead to him. And some who worked alongside them were sheer brilliance. The little spider chalked that up to the dual nature of the city. A monolithic, potent, diverse, fluid tower of culture and oppression, power and passion.
The Drone, wearing her dark suit and idly glancing back at the clock on the wall while fingering a pack of cigarettes, was a skinny thing. Her hair was false-blond and should have had grey roots. This woman was happy to stop, glance around her office with its avant-garde-in-the-60's-art-world decor, and kick back for a minute. She finally rose, grabbing her pack and throwing a coat off so she wouldn't have to wear it outside in the summer heat. Her eyes went out the window, and suddenly she shrieked. One hand pointed outside, and another covered her mouth before she let out a second, horrified cry. Itsy perked.
Finally! Someone was realizing he was very fierce!
Itsy leapt at the window, fangs bared, snarling happily. He pressed against the glass with all eight limbs and chittered wildly. This usually scared the hell out of children. He was a terrifying little spider, and anyone seeing his plush limbs better recognize.
The Drone, even if she was only a Drone, couldn't be that bad if she could see him, Itsy thought. He figured he'd put a good scare in her, then be nice to her. Maybe she'd be fun. Who knew? And surely, as her coworkers rushed in and also began shouting, one grabbing the phone and dialing, he thought this must be a -very- fun place. So he stopped the menacing display, flashed his biggest grin, did his eight-legged dance, and chirped up, “Bruga!”
The office workers, however, paid no mind to his friendly greeting. They just went on screaming, pointing, and confering. He couldn't hear the phone call. One of the office workers went up to the window, afraid. Itsy kept smiling and cheerily calling out to him, but little good did it do him. This was a real Drone, and clearly he couldn't see Itsy. The man's coldness swept over the little spider as if he were not a man, but a block of ice. The figure pointed at Itsy's parcel, paling, and nodded to the others, then backed away from the window with a grimace and a pallid face.
Itsy was crestfallen. No one had recognized how fierce he was! They only thing all these people had been interested in was his heavy parcel. Itsy positively frumped. He deflated. His dance, stopped mid-step, turned into a morose shuffle down the window. He voiced his sadness with a soft, “Bruga...” of disappointment. Then, a venomous “Bruga!” of anger. Oh, no, his bundle wasn't theirs, and why should these people be upset or staring at it? Who were they to ignore him but freak out about his gift? Now he was in an angry, vengeful mood. Certainly the little spider could teach them all lessons in pain and fear. In more foul tempers he might, but as soon as he reached his things, Itsy remembered the reason for his climb and let it go. He decided to enjoy his meal right there, with them watching, to learn them for being such busybodies.
Tearing open his silken package, Itsy withdrew a hot dog and carried it right back so they could watch him eat it with great flare while perched atop his prey. Now he had their attention. The Office Drones and their companions kept pointing at his gift and discussing it, their faces ash with what he could only assume was jealousy. Well, good. To Winter and back with these meanies who weren't going to be nice to a heroic and fierce spider. Only when he had eaten the -whole- thing did Itsy turn back to the task at hand. He gathered up the ropes, and then continued his climb. The Office Drones were shrieking as he took away the package, though Itsy could not hear.
Nor did he care to. Between climbing to the top, humming a Johnny Cash lyric that was appropriate for his mood, and making sure he didn't drop anything important to him, he was no longer concerned with the mere struggles of quislings. His rendition of 'Walk the Line' was so spot on (though crafted from monosyllabic murmurs of 'Bru'), that he settled on' The Wanderer' for an encore before adding some Tito in. The spider never thought how odd salsa translated from Spanish to Itsy-ese would sound, not would he have cared in the slightest. What mattered to him was that he felt better, and the songs focused him away from the ardor of love needed to carry his bungle all the way to the top. He paid no heed to the commotion below, with its wailing sirens and honking fire horns. Something was always happening in New York.
Cresting the lip, hauled up his prize. Now came only the short climb up to the top of the arches. Once there, zipping side to side, he secured his bundle and then settled in to eat the other two hot dogs. Here he could and would wait. Here, he mounted the prize he had carried, the offering of love. (Now, Itsy is well aware to those of you who have been paying attention this is not how normal spiders mate. Itsy, however, was not only very fierce, but a much more romantic and deeper spider than any other. Nor was he going to let his bitch eat him in the act of mating, thank you. Itsy, in addition to being remarkably fierce and incredibly romantic, knew he had a mighty pimp-fang and wasn't going to let some female spider dictate terms, including 'female-gets-to-eat-male,' to him.) And here, he waited. He waited because he knew the spirit of a soul mate was out there for him, as great and mighty as he. He waited because one day, he knew he could and would bring her to him. He plaintively cried out, “Bruga!” and waited for the right...well...he didn't have ears but damn it, Itsy could hear!...to hear -him.-
Then, suddenly, Itsy's moment came shattering down. A door beneath him opened, and men of the law, with golden badges glittering, appeared. Itsy's package rolled right out of place and almost struck one in the head. Their disbelief, and need to find what he had taken, ripped his webs asunder. Itsy, too, tumbled, managing to just catch a line on the building before the package dropped onto the roof below him. Itsy stared with sad, googley eyes as the men in blue swarmed over her.
“Call the paramedics!”
“Jesus, is she?”
“Holy fuck, I got no pulse,” said one officer, stooped down to touch the girl's tiny neck. Another laid his hand on his shoulder and shook his head. This body was -cold-, and protocol called for them not to do a thing when it was obviously futile. In this case, she was gone.
“Sergeant, have the entire building cordoned. I want no one getting out until we have them. Am I clear?”
“El-Tee. Look, she's got two puncture wounds, that's it. Not even deep. But look how discoloured her skin is.”
“So what are you saying, detective?”
“Poison, I'd bet. You're going to want to get the family to allow an autopsy as soon as we get her ID'd. Same as the others, too. What does she look? Six?”
“Yeah.” El-Tee lit a cancer stick, then turned away. His stomach lurched, one of his men did vomit, and his stomach lurched again. “One sick fuck.”
Itsy, murmuring 'Bruga,' sadly over his interrupted mating display, descended the building and went home.
What no one realized was that the reason he was climbing was for love.
No one saw him, of course. New York was a great center of the static world, but also one bursting with creativity, with adaptation. Manhattan had an energy of creation and establishment to be found in few places of the world. However, most of that wonder was still stuck between adults. They lacked the brilliance to see the underlying magical world, where wonder and innocence held sway. Wonder, innocence, and something a little darker as well. Not every dream and vision of the world was light and wondrous. And some, a rare few, were mixed almost evenly between love and horror.
Now, Itsy was climbing one of Manhattan's most recognizable landmarks, the great building which rose up its skyline to shimmer with metallic arches that cut the skyline. It raised the arch of the Romans hundreds of feet in the air, shining with a brilliant light that hinted at an older, American dream. Normally, for the little spider, such a trip would be a mere inconvenience. He would have to carry only a small bundle, usually wrapped in his silk, of food to eat en route to the summit. Even now, he did. Itsy had two ropes of silk pincered between his little mandibles. One rope was attached to the package of three silk-enshrouded hot dogs, stolen from a vendor, which were banging on his back. The other was attached to a heavy, but very important sack, wrapped in pure silk, that was much larger than the spider himself.
“Bru...” the little spider complained about his assent. The weight he hauled was taxing, and taking a rest usually meant creeping up to a ledge and then hauling his burden up to his level before stopping. That taxed his strength more than a simple climb did, but he did have the stamina to make the entire climb without breaks. Laying his parcel down on the ledge, he stopped, crawling to the window and peering within. Inside, there was some Office Drone. Office Drones, at least as far as Itsy could figure, were a species of ant that would crawl into the great mounds of the Big City and then sequester themselves in chambers. They would work for the Queen until the Queen had sucked them dry of the vital spark. Now, what was -funny- to him was that it appeared there were only -some- Drones in each mound. Some of the little worker ants managed to remain as vital and fluid every day as they had been since they entered the office. And he was never sure where the Drones would be, or those whom the Queen spared from the death of their spark. Itsy just knew that -some- Drones were nearly dead to him. And some who worked alongside them were sheer brilliance. The little spider chalked that up to the dual nature of the city. A monolithic, potent, diverse, fluid tower of culture and oppression, power and passion.
The Drone, wearing her dark suit and idly glancing back at the clock on the wall while fingering a pack of cigarettes, was a skinny thing. Her hair was false-blond and should have had grey roots. This woman was happy to stop, glance around her office with its avant-garde-in-the-60's-art-world decor, and kick back for a minute. She finally rose, grabbing her pack and throwing a coat off so she wouldn't have to wear it outside in the summer heat. Her eyes went out the window, and suddenly she shrieked. One hand pointed outside, and another covered her mouth before she let out a second, horrified cry. Itsy perked.
Finally! Someone was realizing he was very fierce!
Itsy leapt at the window, fangs bared, snarling happily. He pressed against the glass with all eight limbs and chittered wildly. This usually scared the hell out of children. He was a terrifying little spider, and anyone seeing his plush limbs better recognize.
The Drone, even if she was only a Drone, couldn't be that bad if she could see him, Itsy thought. He figured he'd put a good scare in her, then be nice to her. Maybe she'd be fun. Who knew? And surely, as her coworkers rushed in and also began shouting, one grabbing the phone and dialing, he thought this must be a -very- fun place. So he stopped the menacing display, flashed his biggest grin, did his eight-legged dance, and chirped up, “Bruga!”
The office workers, however, paid no mind to his friendly greeting. They just went on screaming, pointing, and confering. He couldn't hear the phone call. One of the office workers went up to the window, afraid. Itsy kept smiling and cheerily calling out to him, but little good did it do him. This was a real Drone, and clearly he couldn't see Itsy. The man's coldness swept over the little spider as if he were not a man, but a block of ice. The figure pointed at Itsy's parcel, paling, and nodded to the others, then backed away from the window with a grimace and a pallid face.
Itsy was crestfallen. No one had recognized how fierce he was! They only thing all these people had been interested in was his heavy parcel. Itsy positively frumped. He deflated. His dance, stopped mid-step, turned into a morose shuffle down the window. He voiced his sadness with a soft, “Bruga...” of disappointment. Then, a venomous “Bruga!” of anger. Oh, no, his bundle wasn't theirs, and why should these people be upset or staring at it? Who were they to ignore him but freak out about his gift? Now he was in an angry, vengeful mood. Certainly the little spider could teach them all lessons in pain and fear. In more foul tempers he might, but as soon as he reached his things, Itsy remembered the reason for his climb and let it go. He decided to enjoy his meal right there, with them watching, to learn them for being such busybodies.
Tearing open his silken package, Itsy withdrew a hot dog and carried it right back so they could watch him eat it with great flare while perched atop his prey. Now he had their attention. The Office Drones and their companions kept pointing at his gift and discussing it, their faces ash with what he could only assume was jealousy. Well, good. To Winter and back with these meanies who weren't going to be nice to a heroic and fierce spider. Only when he had eaten the -whole- thing did Itsy turn back to the task at hand. He gathered up the ropes, and then continued his climb. The Office Drones were shrieking as he took away the package, though Itsy could not hear.
Nor did he care to. Between climbing to the top, humming a Johnny Cash lyric that was appropriate for his mood, and making sure he didn't drop anything important to him, he was no longer concerned with the mere struggles of quislings. His rendition of 'Walk the Line' was so spot on (though crafted from monosyllabic murmurs of 'Bru'), that he settled on' The Wanderer' for an encore before adding some Tito in. The spider never thought how odd salsa translated from Spanish to Itsy-ese would sound, not would he have cared in the slightest. What mattered to him was that he felt better, and the songs focused him away from the ardor of love needed to carry his bungle all the way to the top. He paid no heed to the commotion below, with its wailing sirens and honking fire horns. Something was always happening in New York.
Cresting the lip, hauled up his prize. Now came only the short climb up to the top of the arches. Once there, zipping side to side, he secured his bundle and then settled in to eat the other two hot dogs. Here he could and would wait. Here, he mounted the prize he had carried, the offering of love. (Now, Itsy is well aware to those of you who have been paying attention this is not how normal spiders mate. Itsy, however, was not only very fierce, but a much more romantic and deeper spider than any other. Nor was he going to let his bitch eat him in the act of mating, thank you. Itsy, in addition to being remarkably fierce and incredibly romantic, knew he had a mighty pimp-fang and wasn't going to let some female spider dictate terms, including 'female-gets-to-eat-male,' to him.) And here, he waited. He waited because he knew the spirit of a soul mate was out there for him, as great and mighty as he. He waited because one day, he knew he could and would bring her to him. He plaintively cried out, “Bruga!” and waited for the right...well...he didn't have ears but damn it, Itsy could hear!...to hear -him.-
Then, suddenly, Itsy's moment came shattering down. A door beneath him opened, and men of the law, with golden badges glittering, appeared. Itsy's package rolled right out of place and almost struck one in the head. Their disbelief, and need to find what he had taken, ripped his webs asunder. Itsy, too, tumbled, managing to just catch a line on the building before the package dropped onto the roof below him. Itsy stared with sad, googley eyes as the men in blue swarmed over her.
“Call the paramedics!”
“Jesus, is she?”
“Holy fuck, I got no pulse,” said one officer, stooped down to touch the girl's tiny neck. Another laid his hand on his shoulder and shook his head. This body was -cold-, and protocol called for them not to do a thing when it was obviously futile. In this case, she was gone.
“Sergeant, have the entire building cordoned. I want no one getting out until we have them. Am I clear?”
“El-Tee. Look, she's got two puncture wounds, that's it. Not even deep. But look how discoloured her skin is.”
“So what are you saying, detective?”
“Poison, I'd bet. You're going to want to get the family to allow an autopsy as soon as we get her ID'd. Same as the others, too. What does she look? Six?”
“Yeah.” El-Tee lit a cancer stick, then turned away. His stomach lurched, one of his men did vomit, and his stomach lurched again. “One sick fuck.”
Itsy, murmuring 'Bruga,' sadly over his interrupted mating display, descended the building and went home.