The Invisible-Picasso-Painting Spider

The sad-eyed bearded man sat sipping his last drop of Old Crow whiskey, thinking about nothing and forever. He noticed a spider crawling across the old time-beaten table, feeling its way to the wall. He watched in pure astonishment as the spider stopped and began to make broad brush strokes with its right front feeler. Hour upon maddening hour, the invisible-Picasso-painting spider worked her majesty. Painting the masterpiece. The sad-eyed bearded man had lived alone in the old farmhouse since his wife Vivina had gone to the greater side of good 15 years earlier. He could not take his eyes off her. He saw it, the masterpiece, coming to life before his blurry eyes. Quickly, the sad-eyed bearded man ran for the kitchen sink and grabbed all the dead flys he could find for the invisible-Picasso-painting spider. Eagerly putting them in small piles beside her. Day after day, the sad-eyed bearded man sat sipping his last drops of Old Crow and smoking his sloppily-rolled cigarettes. Grabbing dead flys from every corner of the old farmhouse until he could find no more. She grew and grew. It was Tuesday morning, the 5th of July, and she was big enough to throw the noisy refrigerator down the basement stairs with one flick of a feeler. There was a knock. The sad-eyed bearded man scrambling and stumbling towards the door, " Yes! Yes! May I help you?". "Hello there, I hope i'm not bothering you. I'm Gabriel, a representative from the Center for Arachnaphobia, would you be interested in donat---, what the----". The sad-eyed bearded man spun around and slammed the door shut. "God-dammned sales men!". The man's beard grew longer and his eyes sadder. Night after night, day in and day out, he sipped his last drops of Old Crow and smoked his sloppily-rolled cigarettes, watching and feeding the spider, which by now, had grow to colossos proportions. He loved her. He could see her masterpiece in every brush stroke. On a Tuesday morning at the end of September, the sad-eyed bearded man awoke to a tickle on his right cheek. The Invisible-Picasso-Painting Spider sank her poison fangs deep inside his chest as he faded into bliss. She had finally finished her masterpiece.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Super Short Story

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and_hera_met_zeus's picture

i feel there is a metaphor i am missing, intriguing

but nonetheless i prefer the style of your earlier poems, more imagery and less story.  you are a master of impression, don't sacrifice that for anything