There's a spider on my bed. And it dares me to duel him. And I wonder if it would be fair for him to fight me with all eight of his limbs.

I look into his eyes and see no fear. Black, round and hairy, the spider makes me shiver.

I consider my options. I could run like a coward, or fight him like a man. I wonder if I would still dare fight him if I had eight limbs of my own. I decide to fight his eight limbs with whatever I have.

We move in circles, waiting for each other to make the first move. Patience holds the key to making no mistakes. I consider myself to have a superior intellect at least.

But the minutes pass and we still keep moving in circles, widening and closing in every alternate period. Waiting drives me crazy. I am a man, no predator. I lack the skills of a hunter. I decide that it would be best to pounce upon him suddenly and strangle him to his miserable death.

I jump. The spider dives to his left. But I read his movements well. My hands reach his body. But he has no neck. I grope about his head, searching for a constriction to get a grip on.

I am fighting the spider too closely now and I am too entangled in his limbs to know where my own limbs are. I find it disheartening that he is fighting me with all eight of his limbs. I feel my strength drain away slowly.

It is unfair.

He moves in for the kill. I can’t fight any more as I feel so vastly out-limbed.

These will be my last moments. I look at the spider. I look deep into his eyes. They are black and round. 

In his eyes I see a spider, weakened by fear, apprehension and uncertainty. And with each dying moment in its arms, my life drains away.