The Fall

The wind is strong. Harsh. I stand on the edge of the massive office building, smelling the beauty of the world. One last time. The call. The silent voice that isn’t. It’s too much. I just can’t handle it. Not anymore. Every moment is pain, forcing your own mind forwards, fighting and clawing for every thought. That immense pressure, along with the more figurative pressure from family, from life, from friends, from work, it pushed me too much. Too far. I just need a break. A break from it all.

Thirteen years. I’ve been feeling the pressure on my mind for thirteen years. Ever since that evening. The evening that changed my life, turned me into what I am. Until this month, I was fine. I could push it back. I only let loose once a year and that was more than enough to manage my less pleasant urges. But recently, everything’s changing. I can’t stop the pressure. The pushing that pulls me onwards. It feels so strong it hurts. The fact that it’s barely been two months since I last was not me doesn’t seem to matter. I know not why, but it keeps pushing and pushing, without end and with no indication of tiring. If this is any indication of what’s to come in my future, I can’t. It’s too much. I just need to breathe.

It’s the easiest thing. Just a little step. No big deal, right? Taking a deep breath, I lift my left foot slightly. I move it forwards, leaning ever so slightly on my right leg. I put my foot down, shifting my weight, leaning forwards slightly. My foot finds purchase on the empty air before me, and my body begins to fall forwards, tumbling so I’m facing the ground. For the first time in the longest month of my life, I can breathe again. The air rushing past my face as I pick up speed feels wonderfully relaxing. It’s only then, after the brief moment of utter relaxation when time seems to stop completely and all worries are out of my mind, that I realize my mistake. I was not thinking at that moment. Now, there is nothing holding back.

All beasts of nature have one constant, unstoppable instinct. Survival. My frail, human body can not survive this fall. That is the whole reason I stepped forwards. But I am no mere human. Unfortunately, in the relaxation, I forgot that. My skin tightens against my bones as I feel the painful stretching from four points along my back. My body pulls tighter as four spindly arms break out through the skin, bone and sinew fluttering behind my body as I fall. In several places each, my arms and legs begin to break. To reshape. My hands and fingers twist together, pulling into small, sharp claws. The extra bony appendages along my back begin to grow hairy skin and muscles around it, starting along the holes in my skin and twisting up the arms. My face, now covered in hair, pains as four lumps on my skull push forwards, extending out into a pair of venomous fangs and a pair of small, spiky plates on small, extended appendages. Like on my back, the hairy skin grows around them as well. Then, the worst part. I feel my lower torso begin its expansions, pulling outwards twisting into their long tubular spinnerets. I feel my face expand, but I keep my eyes shut tight. I hate this. I hope it’s too late. I hope this is the last time I transform. I hope I’m going too fast for my instincts to stop me this time. I hope -

But all my hope is in vain. My spinnerets spit slightly, forcing my body, still falling, towards the building. My claws extrude from my arms ever so slightly, and grip against the wall, trying to find purchase. My scopulae slow me down enough that my claws find their grip before I hit the ground. I’m never going to escape this, am I? I’m no longer in control of my body. I open my eyes, the familiar strange, fragmented vision from my eight eyes filling in the picture that vibrations already outlined for me. The pressure, it’s too strong for control. Not now. Faster than should be possible, I feel myself climbing around the building to the far side, slightly higher up. I leap across the gap to the top of the next building over. I’m going to be seen. This is not good. But my body refuses to listen. To understand. Giant spiders are not a normal thing. This does nothing but draw more attention to me. I ask. I beg. It is all to no avail. The hunt is upon my mind, and there is no stopping her.

I traverse half the city, rooftop to rooftop. Each leap taking me closer to my prey. What, I wonder, could be causing this hunt. Giant spiders aren’t the easiest to hide or forget, so mystics know better than come around here. Not for long, in any case. My forbear didn’t teach me much, but mystics are our prey. I know that much. Which once again, begs the question. Who?

On my final leap, I feel a great fight happening below. Looking down, I see a tall man who does not feel right, fighting with light that does not move the wind like it should, against people who give off none of the pheromones they should be giving off. I know better than get involved. Too many targets, too many variables. But the hunt. It is all that controls my body. They fight in an alley, so I need to cut them off. Slowly, stealthily, I spin webs along the entrances to the ally, then over the top of it. Climbing along the new ceiling to the alley, I watch as the man who feels wrong takes the final head off of the people who give off no human pheromones. Tired, the man tries to leave. I follow along the webbing. He hits my web, startling him. Tired and confused. It is time to strike. With a quick push, I am upon him. I open by pushing my fangs into his shoulder, pumping venom in as my spinnerets work their butts off covering his lower body in webbing. Trapped by the webbing and still tired, his shock is compounded further by the venom’s spasmodic qualities. He is to be food, whether I like it or not. And I very much wish it wasn’t so. I push away with my mind, hoping I am strong enough to flee.

“Monster,” I hear him say in a hushed tone. Then comes the pain. A searing, hateful pain in my gut. I can feel everything as something is stuck through me. I look. It’s his sword that wasn’t a sword. And it is through me. “Do you not know who I am?”

His voice. It’s wrong too. Like it isn't coming from him at all. But it is. I can feel it. I’m dying. I lose my footing as I fall back onto the cold, hard concrete. I wanted this, I can’t help but think. Why aren’t I happy? The man cuts himself free from my trap. He is monologuing. I’ve never lost before. Then, a question comes to my mind. How am I going to die? Will I remain a spider forever? Will I transform after death? Or beforehand? I don’t know. My forbear, she never told me. I wonder if she knew. I mean, she never told me about whatever this guy is, but that is probably because he’s wrong. Because she doesn’t know about him. But not talking about death? That could be ignorance, but it could also be a desire to keep things light. Both are likely. She tended to coddle me more than she should. Before she just left and abandoned me here, leaving me alone again. I look up, once again, at my killer. The prey, who turns out to be an even greater predator. If spiders could smile, I would be smiling. Nature sure is funny sometimes.

He stares down at me, still monologuing. I’m far from paying attention anymore. My mind is on other things. Specifically, the pain. Not from the wound. After the initial shock, I haven’t really felt the wound at all. It’s just there. The pain is one I’m familiar with. The pain I feel as the transformation process slowly pulls my body back together. Brings me back around. It seems death trumps hunger. You learn something new every day. My internal chuckling becomes external as my head returns to normal, only pausing for the cringes of pain as out of place bones and muscles shifting around touch against my fatal wound. The predator, my killer, standing over me, looks down, perplexed. “What is wrong with you?” he asks in his wrong voice. Stupid ears. It’s much easier to ignore talking when your hearing is the same sense as your feeling the breeze. Internal ears make it much harder to listen to something other than the loud, annoying person.

“A lot, probably,” I say, chuckling more as I lie on the pavement, naked and dying.

He shakes his head. “Any final words, foul beast?” he demands.

I bite my lower lip. “Yeah,” I reply, “Could you find me some pants. I really don’t want to die in the nude. I’d prefer no one else have to see my dangly bits.”

“No,” he replies to me.

I shrug as he lifts his sword that is not a sword above his head. “Oh well. A few miles off, but the end results the same, right?”

He pauses. His sword that is not a sword is no longer in his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks. He’s curious. That’s weird. His voice is also right now. That’s weird too. He shrinks down, too. Suddenly, I feel like I could’ve taken him.

“Oh, tonight I gave into instinct because I tried to kill myself,” I answer him honestly.

He looks confused. “Why, though?” he asks.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I reply, “You don’t know what it’s like to lose control. To no longer be able to affect your own actions.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says with a half-hearted smile. He walks over and takes some of the clothes off the ground where the people who didn’t have human pheromones were dead moments before. They were no longer there. The clothes still were, though. “At least recently, I’ve been able to see what he does.”

“I’ll pretend like that makes sense. I just couldn’t take the pressure anymore,” I say.

“What, like, being a spider-person is stressful?” he asks.

“Huh?” I reply, then realize he’s misunderstood me. “No, it’s a literal pressure on my brain.Sort of. A silent voice, a push that’s also a pull. It’s hard to explain to people who’ve never felt it, who don’t already know the urge, but it’s just kind of always there. Wanting you to listen to the silence. Wanting you to follow the push. Wanting you to let go.”

“That makes literally no sense.” He hands me the clothes, and adds, “But it sounds kinda crappy. If that helps.”

“Not really,” I reply, pulling on the pants and shirt he gave me over my slowly dying body. I already feel nothing in my legs. My arms are starting to go numb as well. “But thanks for listening anyways,” I make sure to add.

He smiles and nods to me. “No problem.”

“And, just a word of advice,” I say to the predator who showed me a modicum of kindness, “Try to find a way to deal with whatever your thing is. Before it finds a way to deal with you.” As I say my final piece of advice, I start to fade. My mind falls away. One final time, I feel myself unable to control my body, as it lies broken in an alleyway. And, with a final, futile attempt to put a smile on my face, I am no more.