Spider shells, littering the floor to the bedroom. Vague carcasses left behind after the creatures molted and outgrew their skins. But that isn’t how spiders work, is it? Well, not for these spiders, at least.
Creepy webs all up on the walls, the ceiling, filled with the corpses of spiders long-since dead. A few of them still move, lazy legs on gossamer silk. I watch from my bed, both aware and unaware of them at the same time. They dangle above my head, and one descends on a delicate thread toward my face.
I let it touch down on me. I am not afraid. It’s just a common house spider, after all. But even this spider is the ghost of the creature it once used to be. It is just a shell, filled with filaments that are both strong and oh so brittle. I brush it away, and the spider corpse lands on my pillow.
I breathe it in, as I myself am but a shell. It is something I share in common with these once-creatures. I have molted from my previous form, moved on to energy, just as they have. I seek to get caught up in their webs, carried away until oblivion claims me. Perhaps then I will be recycled and reborn, even as one of these majestic creatures.