by Phil Hunt
I was not crawling but daydreaming when I heard the squeak, a groan, so much roaring.
There was nothing in particular on my mind. A fierce sunbeam warmed my back. My eight eyes looked everywhere at once and also nowhere. Light and dark patches. Bright white mixed with hot swatches of color. Blurry tendrils of the universe swayed at the edge. Everything out of focus. Nothing on my mind.
It felt good.
The vibrations did little to prepare me. Great mounds of heatwet erupted. Coming toward me–growing larger. Surging. So much roaring.
Can it see me?
I tried to focus. Could not on account of the heatwet. The swatches fell in on me, growing dim. My legs, too, became the swirling darkness.