🕷 ᴀʀᴀᴄʜɴᴏᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀ 🕷

[Eepy]

-=🕷=-

Written by Eepy_Time

-=🕷=-​

My brother hates spiders.

From the moment he came into this world, he knew what he feared more than anything else. Everyone in our family had their own icks: My mom has a phobia for needles, my brother is a germaphobe. My dad, the strong burly man from southern Florida he is, grows tense whenever any of us shout too loud. While some of these fears were born into our brains and some were engraved by others, my brother Ethan always felt like a different case.

He was born a small baby. The only premature one, early by 3 whole weeks. He was in the NICU for nearly a month before he was allowed to go home, and even then he had issues gaining weight. Mom had to buy these special formula shakes when he was about 9 due to how little he ate.

Aside from his odd eating habits, it's clear from the start what he was afraid of. I was a rowdy kid, enjoyed playing in the sandy dirt of our childhood home in southern Florida. You don't have rich dirt there, just a sandy substrate that somehow keeps buildings afloat. Spiders were common for such a warm climate, and common tarantulas would appear in our backyard every now and then.

He hated them. From the first time I brought a particularly thin one inside, he knew just how much he hated spiders. I gave it some tap water and fed it a few bugs before letting it roam free once more, but I'll never forget the fear in his eyes when I held the small arachnid in my hands and tried to show him.

He had issues growing up. Mom and dad split long ago, and mom also recently divorced her new husband since he cheated on her. He's never had a true father figure since dad moved to Washington, even if he does visit every Christmas and is staying so far away for his own good.

I'm not sure what caused such an extreme fear in him. Maybe he just never learned how to properly cope, or maybe it was a genetic thing. Some phobias can run genetically by what I read, but even so it doesn't explain his pure hatred for the little bugs on our porch. He tried to kill a bumblebee once. I never understood why.

I think I finally grasped just how deep his hatred went a few weeks back. There was a small, common black spider in our basement that I had named August. I dunno the poor thing's gender, but they showed up in August so I think the name was meant for them. Either way, my brother avoided the basement like a peasant avoiding the plague.

I remember going down there to do some laundry one day. I can't recall whose laundry it was, but I do recall the smell of bleach. We nearly never clean that basement, so I couldn't figure out where the smell was until I went back and stopped by August's nest. I've never been so stunned before.

My brother wasn't a malicious person. Sure, he hated spiders, but he's never been outright cruel before. I'll never forget the sight: A curled up August, dripping with bleach spray and looking like they had a miserable death. I asked him why he did it, and he never gave me a straight answer.

My brother hates spiders. I think if the spiders of the world knew his hatred, they'd fear him more than he fears them.

-=🕷=-

if i am killed for simply living,
let death be kinder than man.
and god,
please let the deer on the highway get some kind of heaven
something with tall soft grass and sweet reunion
let the moths in the porch lights go some place with a thousand suns,
that taste like sugar and get swallowed whole.
may the mice in oil and glue
have forever dry, warm fur and full bellies.
i pray nobody kills me for the crime of being small.

-=🕷=-​