Young Writers Project is a creative online community of teen writers, photographers and artists, which has been based in Vermont since 2006. Each week, VTDigger features the writing and art of young Vermonters who publish their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for 12- to 18-year-olds. To find out more, visit youngwritersproject.org, or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org and 802-324-9538.
Have you ever come face-to-face with your greatest fear? Let’s dial it back. What do you do when you encounter something particularly unpleasant or icky? Our first instinct may be to rid ourselves of it — but this week’s featured writer, Amelia Foran of Colchester, rejects the urge to squash a spider scurrying by, by focusing on its intricate place in Nature’s web.
The abhorrent, little spider
Amelia Foran, 16, Colchester
I was wrapping a present during twilight, the night before my father’s birthday.
I sat on the cold and disorganized concrete floor of the basement.
While shifting my weight, I noticed a traveling spider:
Eight thin, precarious legs carried a body the size of a sesame seed – so delicate and small.
We glanced at each other for a moment. I was scared, terrified, full of disgust.
As it looked at me with its invisible eyes, I remembered the many that had come before.
So many I had killed for the price of being small; I had lost count.
I wonder what they thought in their last moments?
“Please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die. I have so much left to give.”
The thought made me sad for how cruel I was.
I believed I was righteous and good, and it was an ugly, evil, abhorrent creature.
In my mind I was the ruler with the judge’s gavel, smashing them into dust. Saving myself from some imaginary threat.
This time, I decided to show mercy to the little spider.
It was not thick with venom and possessed no obscene appearance,
for when I looked closer, I could see its beauty:
black like the igneous rock scattered on the surface of our Earth,
fragile, chipped, and resilient;
comparable even to myself.
“Your life is so short and your body so small.
You choose a path that led us to share a moment in each other’s fleeting existence,
and for that, you do not deserve to die.”
It spared me one last glance of caution.
I shifted my tired ankles as it scurried back to its home under layers of lost memories and wrapping paper.
And so, I tied off my father’s present into a bow,
and the spider weaved its thread into a comforting home, both secure.
This time, I let it live.
