Font size: - +
The small, secluded town of Sognore has gone unnoticed by the public for decades. The people there faded away, leaving the town with a population of roughly two thousand. It could not be said that it was death that took them, nor anything of natural cause. It was rare that people moved here, or even came to visit, as they were repulsed by Sognore's sorry excuse for a town. Its reputation was forever scarred by the formerly toxic chemical plants that littered the land. Sognore was once popular for its production of herbicides, pesticides and other industrial and pharmaceutical chemicals. However, as the rates of cancer scaled unusually high in the area, the people began to suspect that it was the chemical plant's fault.
Despite this, Sognore's people did not bother to leave, and when they tried to, something always seemed to get in their way. It was as if the town itself were cynical, hating the humans that inhabited it so much that it prevented them from happiness or contentment. It hung in the air in humid, suffocating clumps which crowded each and every strip of land in Sognore. Some people thought it was a curse, while others blamed it on the paranormal or bad luck.
The townspeople were aware of the elephant in the room and they all knew of their shared sufferings. Despite this, unity and friendship is not a very common thing here. The majority kept to themselves, bogged down with fatigue and lost hope.
Yet, Sognore was disgustingly beautiful; with its rusty, oiled train tracks and its trees that grazed the gloomy skyline. This town was the only mark of civilization in a vast plain of nothing but thick forests and swamps which closed in on Sognore from all sides. It was at nights like this that the wind weaved through the dirt roads and trailer parks, its presence only known by its hair-raising wails. Sometimes it stopped to peer into windows, spying on the sleeping faces until it became disinterested and left with a drawn out moan.
This time the wind was strongly attracted to the window of an orange, small mobile home. Drawn like a moth to flame, the wind stared hungrily into the window which looked into a cramped kitchen. A hunched over figure was sitting on the floor, running the pad of their index finger across a shard of glass.
The wind, desperate to see more, squeezed its body through the window, landing in a heap upon the peeled linoleum floor. The place reeked of a strong, pungent smell. It inched closer until it could see the human, pausing in wonder as the human's face turned to the wind. A stripe of light from a dim overhead light illuminated part of the male's face, bouncing off his dripping curls and onto the floor. It stemmed out in veins across his cheeks, lips, and neck which stopped at his collar bone. The blood from his finger ran down his wrist and arm in zigzags, resting on his warm, beige skin like a coiled snake.
Droplets of water fell from the tip of his nose, forming a small puddle which lay beneath his bare feet. The water embedded into the cracks of the floor's yellow floral patterns. He wore royal blue shorts which stopped below his knees and had a flimsy white drawstring on its top. The human wore no shirt, exposing him to the wind's bitter chill. Goosebumps raced up his arms and he slouched over, wrapping his arms around his knees. The blood from his finger smeared on his shorts as he turned his head to stare emptily at the window. The human's eyes, which were black as the void of death, focused on a bug which moved in the corner of his window.
He could tell by its spindly legs and the red mark on its rear that it was a black widow. It must have spent hours spinning its silvery, phantom webs into a beautiful cobweb. It was the perfect deathbed for its meal.
He watched as the spider lifted itself down from its web on a thread of silk. The human lifted a hand, as though he were to wave at it. His mouth drooped into a frown at the thought of such a silly notion. Waves of loneliness clashed against his rib cage, sending a ripple of pitter patters through his heart. Even if the widow were to get anywhere near him, it would probably feel threatened and poison him.
The human rested his head on his knees, his eyes half closed in a more relaxed manner as fatigue began to overtake him. "It is good to know that I am not lonely tonight," he said in a slurred voice. He knew he was only trying to reassure himself he wasn't as alone as he felt. His wine colored blood had now reached the bottom of his ankles, mixing with the droplets of water below. The overhead light had now shifted and only revealed his left eye, casting the rest of his body in shadow. The dishwasher dug into his spine as he slumped against it.
The blade of glass in his hand glinted as he flicked it across the room, slicing another of his fingers in the process. Blood spurted from the cut, splattering onto the floor. He smiled. It was always at the most inappropriate or random times that he burst out into laughter or joy. The piece glinted in the light of the moon, scattered among all of the other pieces of broken glass. His eyes flashed with some obscure emotion as he smeared the blood on his cheeks.
The human's long, bony fingers glided across his face and down his throat and collarbone. He tilted his face upwards, his owlish black eyes slowly wandering towards the ceiling. It almost seemed as he were disconnected from his body. His breaths slowed, fading into low rattles which shook his chest. The strange light which was once present in the depths of his eyes was now extinguished. His smile had melted off of his face, lost somewhere in the pools of blood. He placed the palm of his hand on his forehead, grating it across his skin in distress.
The human grasped the ringlets hanging over his head and tugged on them anxiously, his hands shaking as he did so. His spider friend was nowhere to be seen. He was completely alone. The human wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. His head was buried in his lap, his eyes squeezed tight. The high he got off of the sight of his own blood had now turned into paranoia.