Vanitha Sankaran
I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor. My knees hurt, bent like this, but I'm too tired to move. Anyway you can't have a vision about your life if you aren't cross-legged on the ground. Whoever heard of having a vision while you were washing the dishes, or getting fucked from behind? Well, maybe those are visions too. Everything you think tells you something about yourself. Right. I have to meditate.

I’m looking for an answer, actually lots, but one will do. I shiver at the touch of my .357, wrap my fingers around its cold grip. No reason to do this, no reason not to. I’m bored, really bored. With my husband and my friends, but mostly with myself.

I blink and I see it, the spider on the wall. A black hairy smudge with so many legs it makes my gut quiver. It moves and it crawls, slowly, towards me. It must be a sign. I hate spiders with a rage that's curledinto a fist under my ribcage. I kill every spider I see, especially the translucent ones that scuttle across my walls and bite me in my sleep. It's growing bigger and bigger. Shit, it's the size of a cat!

Yeah, this is definitely a sign. I'll have to shoot it. I reach out with my gun. It stops, like it knows. I wonder what its last thoughts are, its final wishes?

I wonder, what are mine?

I slide the gun across the floor and get up, leaving the spider to its contemplation. And me? I guess I’ll just lay down and try to sleep it off.

Art: Karl Johnsen

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