Rashomon

            (Come to think of it, have I ever actually posted something on the day I was supposed too?)

Written from my point of view:

            Alright, Hal. You’ve trained for this, both physically and psychologically. We’re all going to pull through this, you here me? Don’t panic. Are you listening to me? Good, stop babbling.

            I… look, I’m really going to need you to be quiet, okay? Yes, right now. No, I need you to shut your pie-hole at the moment, not the other way around. Very good. Calm down. Put down the chair. Now look, let’s just sit back and take in the dire truth of the situation:

            There is a spider on the wall.

            On the floor? That would’ve been fine; that’s the reason I invested in those chainmail boots that I refuse to take off no matter how aggressive or possibly sapient my blisters become. On the desk? Also fine; it’s pretty easy to heave a desk through a large enough window. On the ceiling? Easy to correct, now that I’ve installed those heating coils. “You will cook yourself alive,” indeed, contractors.

            But the wall? Nature’s largest deathtrap, outside of the rare Saharan Deathtrap Whale? This is a disaster unfolding before my very eyes. What if that spider reaches my wireless router? It’ll be able to broadcast its sinister spider signal across the entire Internet, converting every computer in existence into a deadly spider attack drone, and all of them will travel to my house and crawl on my skin!

            I have to prevent that, at all costs. I’ll squish it with a blunt object; that might just give me a chance. Damn, why did I sell all of my blunt objects? All I have is knives. And where did I put my spider-killing stretched-cloth device? … Oh yeah. That wasn’t fun.

            Wait. I found something. Let’s hope this works, and may Sheogorath help us if it doesn’t.

Written from the point of view of the spider on my wall:

           

            Hmm. Looks like a secure enough place to secure this strand of my web. Bit loud, though. Wish that guy would shut up. Maybe this is about that guy staring at him through the window? Maybe not, I think he’s turning towards me.

            Is that a book?

             

Written from the point of view of the homeless man staring at me through my window:

            No, you nimrod! That is the worst possible choice in spider-squashing literature for this situation! Yevgeny Zamyatin’s pioneering dystopian classic We? Maybe if we were dealing with a brown recluse spider, but that’s obviously just a common non-poisonous breed. It would be paired much better with a piece of contemporary English or American literature, or maybe something Hungarian, if you wanted to get experimental.

            Ugh. Maybe there’s something more entertaining going on in the kitchen. Oooh, Raisin Bran!

Written from the point of view of the box of Raisin Bran in my kitchen:

            Bran. Bran. Bran bran bran. Bran bran. Bran.

            I wonder what all that screaming was about? Bran. Was that yet another spider? I swear, he must have gone through at least twenty of these incidents since I’ve been here.

            Bran bra- Wait, who’s the guy in the window? Why is he leering at me hungrily?