tall
buildings. I didn’t know which town I was passing through and was too tired to
work it out. Reading perhaps?
Everywhere there were cobwebs, glistening with dew. Under any other
set of circumstances, it would have been a wondrous thing to behold but it was
a sight which brought only despair, clustered tightly over every surface like a
shimmering veil.
I approached a bridge and as I neared, my attention was drawn upward to
a stationary car. Sunlight glinted off the windscreen, which may have been
what first grabbed my attention but when I looked more closely I could see
movement within. I sped up slightly to get closer and then held myself steady
just before the bridge, to give myself a clear view.
There were two people inside, but my brain struggled to process what my
eyes were telling it. It was an old couple; a man and woman, him bald and her
grey. They saw me too and their elderly faces filled with false hope and they
started banging the windows with their fists and from the movement of their
mouths, I could tell they were shouting. All I could do was raise a hand to
acknowledge them, knowing they were beyond any help I could offer. My mind
turned to the soaring temperatures of previous days and I marvelled at how they
hadn’t cooked in the car like dogs.
As I glided beneath them and they realised I wasn’t going to be their
saviour, I saw them both sag back into their seats, their hopes dashed. The
underneath of the bridge was meshed so thick with webs that none of its
construction was visible. Spiders scuttled to and fro and I kept a wary eye on
them as I slid beneath. When I passed out the other side, I breathed a sigh of
relief but didn’t look back, for I didn’t want to catch sight of the car or its
passengers.
The need for sleep was overwhelming. My vision blurred as I battled to
stay awake. For a brief time I considered disembarking to find a car of my own
to sleep in, but the fear of waking up trapped was worse than that of staying
on the open water. And so I continued on my way along the river.
I decided I needed an anchor, so I could snatch a few hours’ sleep and
not touch the banks of the river. For a while I considered what was needed to
make one. Something heavy and a rope were all I required and I sidled into the
next marina, of which there were many along the course of the river, making my
way slowly amongst the boats looking for them. All of the cruisers had rope
aboard, mooring them to the banks or to other boats, but I needed to find one
which looked easily detachable, which I could undo in a hurry.
Eventually I settled on a blue boat; a little older than the others and
somewhat shabby around the edges, the bow was low enough so that I’d be able to
undo the rope while standing in the canoe. Its name, Drinks O’clock, was
painted on the bow in tall, white letters. Despite my illness, I had a craving
for vodka and lime, with plenty of ice.
I manoeuvred in close, so our hulls bumped together, and peered up to
study the knot. A spider crawled over it. It’s
only one. I can handle one, I thought before taking a deep breath
and adjusting myself, ready to stand so I could reach up and untie the rope.
As I shifted, my pants were crusty and brittle, the stench coming off them
added to my nausea and as I began to rise to my feet, I became light headed and
touched one hand to the peeling blue paint of the boat’s hull.
Almost instantly, perhaps attracted by the vibration, at least two
spiders appeared over the deck and began down the side of the boat toward my
outstretched hand. I recoiled, a response already conditioned into me by the
pain in my leg, and lost my balance, almost falling into the river. I wind-milled
my arms for a moment before slumping back into my seat.
I fell into a pit of despair. The damn spiders were everywhere,
thwarting my every move. Was this my punishment, never able to set foot on dry
land again? Maybe I should climb up? I thought, and let them have
buildings. I didn’t know which town I was passing through and was too tired to
work it out. Reading perhaps?
Everywhere there were cobwebs, glistening with dew. Under any other
set of circumstances, it would have been a wondrous thing to behold but it was
a sight which brought only despair, clustered tightly over every surface like a
shimmering veil.
I approached a bridge and as I neared, my attention was drawn upward to
a stationary car. Sunlight glinted off the windscreen, which may have been
what first grabbed my attention but when I looked more closely I could see
movement within. I sped up slightly to get closer and then held myself steady
just before the bridge, to give myself a clear view.
There were two people inside, but my brain struggled to process what my
eyes were telling it. It was an old couple; a man and woman, him bald and her
grey. They saw me too and their elderly faces filled with false hope and they
started banging the windows with their fists and from the movement of their
mouths, I could tell they were shouting. All I could do was raise a hand to
acknowledge them, knowing they were beyond any help I could offer. My mind
turned to the soaring temperatures of previous days and I marvelled at how they
hadn’t cooked in the car like dogs.
As I glided beneath them and they realised I wasn’t going to be their
saviour, I saw them both sag back into their seats, their hopes dashed. The
underneath of the bridge was meshed so thick with webs that none of its
construction was visible. Spiders scuttled to and fro and I kept a wary eye on
them as I slid beneath. When I passed out the other side, I breathed a sigh of
relief but didn’t look back, for I didn’t want to catch sight of the car or its
passengers.
The need for sleep was overwhelming. My vision blurred as I battled to
stay awake. For a brief time I considered disembarking to find a car of my own
to sleep in, but the fear of waking up trapped was worse than that of staying
on the open water. And so I continued on my way along the river.
I decided I needed an anchor, so I could snatch a few hours’ sleep and
not touch the banks of the river. For a while I considered what was needed to
make one. Something heavy and a rope were all I required and I sidled into the
next marina, of which there were many along the course of the river, making my
way slowly amongst the boats looking for them. All of the cruisers had rope
aboard, mooring them to the banks or to other boats, but I needed to find one
which looked easily detachable, which I could undo in a hurry.
Eventually I settled on a blue boat; a little older than the others and
somewhat shabby around the edges, the bow was low enough so that I’d be able to
undo the rope while standing in the canoe. Its name, Drinks O’clock, was
painted on the bow in tall, white letters. Despite my illness, I had a craving
for vodka and lime, with plenty of ice.
I manoeuvred in close, so our hulls bumped together, and peered up to
study the knot. A spider crawled over it. It’s
only one. I can handle one, I thought before taking a deep breath
and adjusting myself, ready to stand so I could reach up and untie the rope.
As I shifted, my pants were crusty and brittle, the stench coming off them
added to my nausea and as I began to rise to my feet, I became light headed and
touched one hand to the peeling blue paint of the boat’s hull.
Almost instantly, perhaps attracted by the vibration, at least two
spiders appeared over the deck and began down the side of the boat toward my
outstretched hand. I recoiled, a response already conditioned into me by the
pain in my leg, and lost my balance, almost falling into the river. I wind-milled
my arms for a moment before slumping back into my seat.
I fell into a pit of despair. The damn spiders were everywhere,
thwarting my every move. Was this my punishment, never able to set foot on dry
land again? Maybe I should climb up? I thought, and let them have
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