The web was spun quietly, thoroughly. It was a life’s work.
Softly, unobtrusively, the lacy filaments bound us together, and crucially, to her. No-one moved without some high frequency harmonic resonating amongst all of us; what happened to one, happened to all.
Were we happy? How could we not be?
But when the centre of our existence was lured away, we dispersed with unseemly urgency… and, it seemed, relief.
Abandoned, she returned to find herself abandoned yet again.
We get together, from time to time. She attempts to spin again.
But we each have our own webs to tend.
A happy and creative New Year to all Friday Fictioneers writers, wherever they may be. And grateful thanks to Rochelle, our leader, for her dedication and patience. Not a very inspired start to the year from me, but it can only get better… I hope.