Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

each of its legs touch a strand, a thin silver strand, almost invisible to the
eye, that supports the matrix of all that can and will be. She moves from
one junction of the grid to the next, enters those places, those times as
well. These aliens are spiders with thousands of eyes, each of those eyes
a person in a particular time, a particular place. Unknowingly, we are all
one of them.
The weaver crawls along her web freely, and we, the eyes, wonder
where last weeks paycheck went.
The weaver spins on…
A sliver of robinegg blue light cut through the swaying curtain, thin
and transparent like gauze. Awake, I’m awake. What a dream… Cold
night air, his throat is sore. Eyes focus and follow the light, like a thin
pointer, from the dusty windowpane to a silhouetted form in the corner
of this room.
As he became aware of a faint bubbling sound, like molten metal
churning slowly, his eyes locked with hers. Pale eyes, glowing the color
of the moon, regarded him coldly. As he lay on his side, the thick down
covers of the bed pulled to his neck, he watched in horror as a young
woman slowly, deliberately pulled a long thin silver strand, hand over
hand, from between her quivering lips. It pooled in her opalescent lap.
He heard a rustling, like a snake slithering through dry leaves, her hands
working like a spider, weaving the filament into great webs. Struggling
to move he realized he was trapped in it. His eyes widened as he realized
that what she was weaving were his thoughts, tying them together in
thick braids. The covers were made entirely of solidified, sticky, silver
liquid… Trapped!
…White cinderblocks and a small, constricting room. The latticework
of the grout is like the weaver’s webs. Dense rock. Underground.
He had looked at an intersection, where one strand crossed another, the
space ship had launched into the pastfuture, and now: a square room.
Square, the law of four…the apriority of space and time…and 4x4 window
panes in my sight now. 16. A hiss of steam like a dragon erupting
into the air, wreathed in flame. One plus six. 7. She must be here, somewhere.
But where was here?
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