I used to love nothing more than to camp out in the wilderness, to clear my mind of the constant everyday chatter. In our modern world of the social and technological advancements, it had become somewhat of a necessity for me to get away from it all at least once a month. My only issue with it was my fear of creepy crawlies, but my anxiety never discouraged from my trek through the great outdoors.
It wasn't too long ago when I first caught sight of one while relaxing in my tent. It was around dusk, so it was a bit hard to see, but I could make out each of its eight fuzzy legs. I remember watching, breathlessly as it scurried toward me. It got closer and closer until I mustered up all my courage and stomped it as hard as I could. I did not celebrate yet. I inspected its body intently for signs of life, and it was only then that I knew that it was dead. I had been victorious, and I felt proud and relieved at the same time.
It didn't last. There were four more of them coming through the crack of the entrance to the cramped tent, followed by tens, and then hundreds of other spiders in under a minute period. I screamed and flailed my arms madly, hoping it that it just might scare them away, although, this did not seem to phase them. One by one they covered my entire body. I thrashed at them desperately in an attempt to get them off. Then I felt the first sting of pain, and I couldn't help but go limp in fear. I stayed as still as I can, holding my breath, and tightly closing my eyes as they collectively bit and dug into my sensitive skin. It almost felt like wasp stings. It didn't take long for me to pass out from a mix of shock and exhaustion.
When I had risen, it was already morning, and the spiders had left except for the few dead. I looked down at my body and saw that every inch of my irritated flesh had been covered in angry-looking bumps. I gently brushed them with my hand but quickly jerked my hand away similar to how someone would if they had just touched a hot stove. They were so unbelievably painful, and it took everything in my power not to cry.
When I got home, the pain had gotten much worse; every movement was excruciating. At the time, I was convinced that the spider venom was somehow affecting my mental cognition. I didn't want to get help so instead, I slept. I slept for an untold amount of days, and when I awoke, the first thing I noticed was how dehydrated I was, and I ran to the nearest bathroom and drank straight from the tap.
After I my thirst was quenched, I looked up into the mirror and saw that the bumps were now fully an inch across and that they quivered with movement. I was strangely ecstatic. I reached up and prodded a spot on my face, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was entirely numb. I knew what I had to do.
I put my finger and thumb on either side of the bump and began to squeeze, careful not to hurt the creatures inside. It didn't take long for it to open, releasing at least twenty baby spiders and a strange, fetid smell. I closed my eyes as they dispersed over my face. They crawled over my wet cheeks and eyelashes, squirmed in my hair, and explored the depths of my nostrils and ears; I couldn't have been happier. I did not want to delay the release of my other children, so I promptly repeated the process for each of the hundred pregnant bumps.
It's been a week since then, and I feel amazing. My skin is deflated and purple: a permanent reminder of the beauty of birth. Not only that but the spiders have accommodated themselves nicely into my home. I wrote this in a hope to show everyone that there is nothing to fear from any arachnids and that even I, someone who used to dread them, have gotten over my ignorant opinion of the undoubtedly warm, gentle creatures.
