arachnophobia

- - - - - - - --,-- - - - - - -

He can hear them. He can always hear them. The noise is a constant companion, just like the steady beat of his borrowed heart. He always marvelled in the way that it thumped against the hollow in his ribcage, and noticed it always skipped a beat – one, two, three – every time he heard that noise.

Scuttling. Legs. Eyes. Spiders.

They're almost like him, in a sense; shying away from the splintered light that falls oh-so-carelessly across the floorboards, they keep to the corners. They don't just hide, they take the shadows hand-in-hand – one and the darkness, the darkness and them; where are they…? He can't see them but he knows they're there. And so he backs away into a corner – go away, go away, go away please… But they never do, just like nightmares – monsters under the bed with stitched-up smiles and glowing eyes. Pleading doesn't work. Praying doesn't work. Words don't even work – they stumble and trip and fall and he nearly bites his own tongue off in fear.

Scuttling. Legs. Whimpering. Fear.

They don't walk, they scuttle, lopsided – they have so many legs, he supposes, it's hard keeping them all under control. So they splay, going this way and that, awkward appendages just like his hands – well, if you could even call them that. Sharp and pointed, they hurt – they hurt so much – when his heart skips up, up, up into his throat, bile rising, fear tangible, fingers – scissors – flailing. No, no, go away… Go away, please… They're here, somewhere – his eyes are glassy, skin ice-cold and twitching sporadically. Sometimes he gets to thinking they're even under his own skin...

Scuttling. Legs. Thumping. Screams.

His sallow face, sour milk skin, starts to run red; eyes wide in fright and mouth open he tries to move away, get away, go away – his back thumps against the wall with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide – just him and the darkness, the darkness and him and oh god he's so sick of this… His arms go up, catching, ripping, tearing – hurting. It hurts so much. Phantom spiders run up his arms and over his legs and into his mouth and inside his body and all he can do is curl up in the corner and breath erratically, hollow chest heaving and eyes tight closed…

Pain. Inhale. Exhale. Sigh.

And repeat - on and on, throughout the night.

- - - - - - --fin;,-- - - - - - - -

a.n: watched edward scissorhands today. so yeah, irrational fears, yo. wondering how he got all those scars. trying to defend himself from spiders, maybe? hope you liked it :D