Summer 1990 – The Scar That Will Not Heal

 

“I didn’t choose this. It fucking chose me. It killed my family. My mother. My father. My older sister and my little brother. It knew where I was hiding. It looked directly at me and put its finger to its lips and let me live. Maybe that was its idea of a joke. Or maybe it wanted to me to grow up and hunt it down. Hunt down all its kind.” 

I said nothing. I had no comforting words. What she needed now was an ear, a listener who knew she was not crazy. Tonight we would drink her beer and scotch. I would make sure she drank enough water to dull the hangover. Tomorrow we would go hunting. She would provide the drive and the anger. I would keep her alive. We were both daughters of spiders. Hers had been a species that parented with evil.