The Spider - Short story
Very much an experiment in metaphor this one. See what you think. The Spider She lived in the back room of the stables, alone, with just the picture for company. It hung on the wood, lopsided, ugly as one can imagine, colours bulging out, red, yellow and blue, exploding onto the canvas like a geyser filled with blood. Yet she would stare at it for hours, salivating over the world it represented - dangerous and ugly, explicit and insatiable - a naked man standing erect. 'Come to me. Come and find me.' The girl didn’t know anything about art. She’d never visited a galley or attended a school. She’d never been to a city - she’d never even left the farm. All she knew about the world was what she could see from the top of the hill, glittering trees and gleaming paths, lights spinning like Catherine Wheels, sparks over dark glass towers. But she knew that something was happening, something with people shouting and running and touching one another. 'Touch. Touch. Touch me.' Vo