“Parasitic arachnoids,” declared the entomologist. “Deadly.”
I’d laughed. “Pull the other one. I’ll be okay.”
Famous last words. There must be hundreds of the little bastards nestling in my flesh. I feel them eating, scratching, spreading, pushing upwards from within.
I can handle the legs growing out the edges of my nipples that look like wayward hairs. And the bristles all over my back and limbs aren’t so bad.
But it’s the eyes, man, the eyes. Popping up everywhere. Body, earlobes, eyelids, lips, even my penis. Damn. The tip of my dick has eight compound spider eyes.
Kill me. Please.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Network Error by Kristin Lennox"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Teke Two by Liam Hogan"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Kent Town Station by James M. Rose"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Future’s Reflections by M. Tensor"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>