Each day after the day I was kidnapped, my family received a ransom note from the giant sociopathic spider holding me hostage.
Tick tock goes the ransom clock.
Soon enough she will join the flock.
Of hapless creatures who came before,
Who walked the plank like sailors of yore,
The only difference: while that plank lead to the sea,
This plank leads inside ME.
The grains of sand are swilling,
The fateful hourglass is filling.
As zero hour approaches quickly,
The upper half is emptying thickly.
Act, act before it is too late.
Lest you have a hand in her unhappy fate.
I often wonder in my spare hours,
Of the meal planning that’s within my power.
What would it be like, to lick a cone,
Endowed with the flavour of human bone?
Or to sample a delectable carcass cake,
Baked with blood for my sake?
As you pass a hand over your anguished brow,
Muttering, “I must raise the ransom, but how?”
I lounge about on my sticky web.
Watching your darling hang from a thread.
She’s growing quite thin, her hair’s a mess.
A sad, pitiful sight I must confess.
But who is responsible for this sorry state?
Is it me? No, ’tis you who sealed her to this mournful fate.
I’d been letting myself out, bit by bit,
That stark, raving mad spider didn’t notice the rip.
Slowly it grew, wider and wider,
Enabling me to punish the spider.
Out I leapt, from my cocooned cage!
And strangled the spider in a fit of rage.
Malavika Selvaraj is an 18-year-old writer and poet residing in Mumbai and a one-time vanquisher of spiders