Hawthorn & Ash #66

Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.

With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.

A FINE HAMMOCK

“I love you,” she said.

“But you are a spider,” replied the fly.

“And what if I am? Does a spider not have feelings?”

The fly flew away. He needed time to think about the strange spider, and her even stranger words.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, he returned the next day.

“You are back,” she said. “You have missed me. Surely this must be love. Come rest awhile, you look tired after your flight, and I have been up all night spinning you a hammock.” The spider gestured towards her handiwork by waving one of her many legs. It was, indeed, a fine hammock, thought the fly, and she was a fine spider for making it, but still he did not trust her, so he flew away again.

“Come back soon, my love,” the spider shouted after him, but, already, he was too far away to hear.

That night, the fly dreamed of the spider, and her generous handiwork, and, when he awoke, he ached from sleeping in a tree. He thought of the spider and her hammock. People would not understand, he realized, but who were they to judge him—or the spider, who had made him such a fine hammock? He remembered his former loves. There had been many, but they were all too flighty, and the relationships did not last. Now, no longer a young fly, he was reaching the age where he needed some security, and a place to call home. He thought of the spider, with her gentle voice, and the silk hammock she had woven for him; then away he flew.

“You have come back!” the spider rejoiced. “I knew you would. Surely, you now know it is love.”

The fly said nothing; just listening to her voice was enough. He looked at the hammock, then back at its maker.

“Come closer,” said the spider. “Rest a while.” and, once again, she raised a hairy leg and pointed to the hammock.

Relationships are built on trust. The fly knew this well, so he flew to a closer leaf, and looked down at the hammock.

“Is it not a fine hammock I have made you?” asked the spider.

“It is indeed a fine hammock,” the fly agreed.

“Then come. Rest yourself.”

He flew to the next leaf, and marveled at the intricate weave.

“Come, my love,” the spider urged.

With a couple of beats of his wings, the fly landed in the hammock as it swung gently in the breeze. The silk felt very soft—a fine hammock indeed.

“May I join you?” asked the spider, crawling in with him anyway.

A fine hammock and a fine spider. Here was a love he could stick with. “I do love you,” he admitted, at last.

The spider bent down and kissed him with her fangs. “Mmm,” she said. “I love you too.” But the fly never heard. He had left her, after all.

Steve Calvert is a British writer. His short stories have appeared in various online and offline publications including Hub, Arkham Tales, The Rose and Thorn Literary Ezine, and on the Pseudopod and Drabblecast podcasts. His website is steve-calvert.co.uk.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

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