Today I killed a spider.
Alright, so the event in itself doesn't sound so abnormal does it? But it made me think.
Let me describe the situation to you first.
Now to make it clear, I don't usually have a problem with those little jumping spiders, or the oddly named daddy-long legs. If they keep out of my way, I keep out of theirs.
Can't say the same goes for those awful hairy shiny monstrosities that make my hands shake for an hour after spotting one, but that's a different issue altogether.
Now, as I stated above, I have no problem with daddy-long legs, until they crawl on the bath towel I happen to be using.
Not going to get graphic here, but safe to say the towel ended up on the floor with me jumping up and down on it within a split second. I then took a second shower, washed the towel, washed my feet with soap, shook for half an hour and checked the bathroom for any more lurking creepy crawlies.
Ah the joys of arachnophobia.
So why did I just relate that seemingly pointless tale to you?
Because it got me thinking, why was that spider’s life worth so little to me? What made it so easy to kill comparative to a human? The way it looked? It's size? It's lack of consciousness, or thought? Or maybe just my own lack of humanity, morality or...
Damnit. I ran out of words that ended in ity.
Maybe I'm looking for compassion.
I doubt I'll find it though.
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