r/shortstory

The sun was high over a dark piece of forest. Dense trees blocked its rays in a way that felt intentional — malicious, even. The trunks were black and dying, clinging to life by the few leaves that still caught scraps of light. Brittle, angry things. The air itself had the sour ambiance of something that hated you just for breathing.

In the branches above, white with silk, Shelop waited. A vast, spider-shaped shadow, still as a corpse, lurking over the road. Hunger gnawed at her belly until it became ferocity; she could strike and paralyse in a heartbeat. Two humans were coming — one large and silver-haired, the other a scrawny bag of bones. Both looked delicious. All eight of her eyes flinched with anticipation. She tensed, every limb a coiled trap.

“Pssst.”

At first she mistook it for the wind. Then again: “Pssst.”

Her eyes narrowed. Across the road, perched just a leap away, another bulk crouched in the shadows. Black, hairy, familiar. She recognised her — Oragag, from that other dark forest, the one crawling with “fantastic beasts.”

“I take the big one, you take the small one,” Aragog called.

“What? No. I take them both,” Shelob hissed back. “I’m hungry. Go away. Find your own hiding spot.” Her forelegs made the universal ‘back off’ gesture.

“I was here first,” Aragog said — then hesitated. “Wasn’t I?” She raised both forelegs in a vague shrug. “Anyway, no need to fight. We’re both spiders. We can share — give the two-leggers a show.”

“You’re not a spider,” Shelob spat. “You’ve got a family. You live together. That’s ant behaviour.”

Aragog snorted. “Like you’re a real spider. Your mother just looked like one. That makes you…” she paused, then hiss-laughed, “…a cosplayer. Forced to cosplay by your mum.”

“At least I make sense,” Shelob shot back.

“Oh? Explain, Sailor Doom,” Aragog mocked.

“You live in a forest with four, maybe five thousand hatchlings. If each one needs one meal a month — like a normal spider — that’s fifty thousand prey animals a year. At your supposed fifty years old, that’s about two to three million medium to large meals. No forest can sustain that. Instead of an extinction event, your forest is blushing with life.”

Aragog bristled. “Sure. And you’ve got penguins high in the mountains. That makes sense — you know they can’t fly up there, right?”

“For the last time it was petrels,” Shelob bit back, sharp — an old wound reopened, all eight eyes narrowing in spite. “So they could have just flown in.”

“Well, for one thing, they’re still oceanic birds,” Aragog fumed. “Point me to the nearest ocean from Mordor. Go on. I’ll wait.”

“They… the hobbit brought them. The fifth one,” Shelob muttered, not quite convinced by her own argument but unwilling to lose face.

***

“Will you shut up? Our prey is escaping,” came a sharp voice from somewhere close by — low, urgent, and annoyed.

Both Shelob and Aragog froze. They turned toward the sound, scanning the forest. Branches shifted, shadows twitched… but nothing.

“Who are you?” Shelob asked.

“Lolth. Spider Goddess of the Drow.”

A creature emerged from the shadows — the lower body of a giant spider fused with the torso of a woman, eyes glittering with divine malice.

Shelob glanced at Aragog. Aragog raised her proverbial shoulders.

“Drow?” Shelob asked.

“The dark elves,” Lolth boasted.

“Dark? Where do they put their socks?” Aragog asked, confused. “I think I know one.”

“What? No — real elves. I mean the backstabbing, angry ones,” Lolth clarified.

“So… Orcs?” Shelob said helpfully.

“What? No, that’s not even a playable race anymore!” Lolth looked at their blank faces, sighed, and gave up. “Anyway, I am a Drider — half spider, half human.” She looked them both in the eyes — all sixteen of them. “A full deity,” she added, when the others didn’t seem impressed.

“So… this is kind of a spiders-only thing,” Shelob said, gesturing with a foreleg. “Maybe you could find your own forest? Your own prey?”

“That would be appreciated,” Aragog added, politely pointing a leg somewhere very far away.

“I am as much a spider as you two,” Lolth snapped. She jabbed a clawed finger at Shelob. “A demi-god. Demi. Not even full.”

Shelob shrank back instinctively.

Then Lolth turned on Aragog. “And you — an oversized ant.”

***

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” a new voice piped up.

They all turned. On a high branch sat several hundred shapes unlike any spider. Their bodies were the size of horses, armored in jagged yellow-and-black chitin. Four scythe-like legs stabbed into the wood as they shifted forward, mandibles clacking in irritation. They weren’t hunters — they were soldiers, built for war.

“What?” the three said in unison.

“We’re arachnids,” the largest and most colourful declared. “And we do not appreciate this appropriation of our culture and race.”

The trio stared, each silently blaming the other two for failing to spot the small army sooner.

“There are legs missing,” Aragog pointed out.

“And eyes,” Shelob added.

“Aren’t you, like… extraterrestrial?” Lolth ventured.

“Yes,” the big one replied, “and you, of course, are completely from this realm… aren’t you?”

“Well… from this planet at least,” Shelob offered.

“Uh-huh,” Aragog said slowly. “Technically—” she pointed a hairy leg at Lolth—“you’re from another plane. And you”—she jabbed at Shelob—“are from another realm. Which makes all of us… multiversal creatures.”

“Stop farting nonsense,” the largest arachnid cut in.

“What?” Lolth frowned at Shelob.

“Well,” Shelob explained patiently, “we basically breathe out of our asses. Talking is just making sounds with exhaled air, so…” She shrugged her forelegs.

There was a long, awkward pause.

***

Then there was a loud clack.

From the underbrush waddled a massive, armor-plated figure, claws clicking with authority.

“Oh great,” Shelob muttered. “Crabzilla.”

The creature raised one claw, proud and offended in equal measure. “Excuse me. Technically, I am closer to you than you are to each other.”

Lolth squinted. “You’re a crab.”

“A horseshoe crab,” she corrected, wheezing slightly. “An ancient lineage. Four hundred and fifty million years of glorious butt-breathing heritage. While you three were still deciding which cosplay to wear, my kind were surviving everything.”

Aragog curled her lip. “Surviving? You live by burying yourself in the sand until something smaller and dumber walks into your claws. That’s not survival, that’s… fishing with depression.”

Shelob, still glaring, chimed in. “At least she doesn’t need a thousand children just to feel relevant. Your whole reproductive strategy is a mid-life crisis.”

Lolth flicked her hair disdainfully. “Please. You’re all primitive. I’ve transcended the flesh. I am both elf and spider — the perfect union. Meanwhile you—” she pointed at Crabzilla—

“Well, I have blue blood. Copper-based. So you know: royalty.” Crabzilla snapped back.

“Congratulations,” Lolth muttered, mildly defeated. “You’re literally a Smurf’s circulatory system.”

The largest of the alien arachnids coughed politely. “Coming from you? You live in a cave eating your own worshippers. That’s not divinity. That’s just bad resource management.”

Crabzilla smiled as the insults washed over him. His claws clicked, slow and deliberate. Finally, he leaned forward, all six of his eyes glinting like wet pebbles.

“Say what you will. But when the seas boiled, when the continents split, when meteors rained down, I was there. Still butt-breathing. Still clacking. Still here.”

He raised his claw dramatically. “And when all of you have gone extinct in your little cosplay forests and multiversal tantrums, there will still be… me.”

A long silence followed.

Then Crabzilla added, softer: “Also, we taste fantastic with butter. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“You know,” Shelob said, letting out a long, echoing pbbbtthhh, “I’m not hungry anymore.” She turned and skittered away.

Aragog looked at the path and exhaled. Their prey had left the forest a good ten minutes earlier.

***

“I am so glad we’re out of that forest,” the large silver haired man said, finally unclamping his nose.

“What happened there?” the scrawny one unfolded his map. “The whole place smelled like… broccoli.”

“Indeed. Should we go back and pick some?” The large one asked, then shook his head at himself. “No. No. Too healthy.”

“Go on then, I’ll wait.” The thin one scribbled a note on his map.

“I’ll mark it the Brassica Woods,” he said, raising his brows.

“Good one,” the other replied, pretending he knew exactly what it meant.

They rode on, blissfully unaware they had just escaped the wrath of the spider-adjacents.

Hey folks!

I just wanted to share a milestone with you all. I have finally released my debut novel, Digital Parasite: AI-love.

Writing this has been a total passion project because I chose to write in a very specific, complex niche that I absolutely love. I've combined the exciting, gritty world of Biopunk with the psychological intensity of Dark Romance. Think Cronenbergian vibes meet dark fantasy.

As a writer, I’ve always been fascinated by how our biology influences our behavior and our darkest desires.

My style is a mix of psychological thriller, dark fantasy, and biological science fiction. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart, but it's exactly the kind of storytelling I've always wanted to create.

If you love complex, morally grey characters and weird biology, I’d love for you to check it out on Amazon or Booksprout where you can read free samples of my books.

I've also written another novel that focuses more on dark romance and exposing toxic femininity, but I feel my future work will focus much more on the biopunk side of things.

I’d love to hear your thoughts or answer any questions you might have about my work. Ask me anything!

She was the most precious thing to him.

For her, he would catch the stars and steal the moon, at least he thought he would.

The truth was that he couldn’t even bring her to see her favourite theme park mascot. He was in her room telling the tale of the Princess and the Snake again. His pinky twitched as he saw the moment flash through his mind. Even at the very end, his words still fell short.

He never liked lying; his mother said a man was as good as his word, and he lived by it, for the most part. People called him a grifter, a man without morals.

But was he? Maybe he was just more optimistic; a glass half empty is also half full, and a promise half broken is also one that was half kept. That’s right, he told himself every time he made someone sign the contract.

‘It’ll work out for some of them, the rest will learn a lesson for a good price.’ 

His philosophy consoled him enough to show up at a job he loathed. There were days when he would not see the sun, and weeks when he didn’t change clothes. But everything would be worth it once he saw the smile on his daughter’s face when they could finally go. It didn’t sit right with him, but the ends would justify the means. 

‘I’ll get us the tickets, and we’ll go on your birthday.’

He kept half of that promise.

And his whole world shattered.

The doctor said it would take a miracle for her to last another year. Funny, after years of preaching faith, it was now his turn. He did not believe in miracles; there was always a trick behind it. 

‘For you, I would catch the stars and steal the moon!’ Those idiots were so amazed when they saw him holding the cheap plastic stars they bought online. 

He remembered talking to one of them. Surprisingly, the man knew there was a trick behind it.

‘Then why did you still applaud?’ He asked the man.

‘You put on a great show, and you gave people hope.’ The man said. 

‘Miracles don’t always come in the way you think they do.’

He instinctively reached out for the stars as he gazed at the night sky. 

'If there is a god out there… Please, I beg you… make her wish come true.'

And just this once, a miracle happened.

‘What’s the trick?’ he asked.

They moved across hallways and spiralled down staircases until no one else was near. And only then, far from the sight of peers, did the doctor dare reveal his secret:

 A cryogenic chamber fueled by bureaucratic oversight. Flickering lights stretched along a corridor that seemed to go on forever, its edges softened by a thin, drifting haze. A faint hum lingered in the air.

Here lies a hopeful crowd, frozen in a moment of bliss.

‘A very long lucid dream, she’ll have full control of the world around her and do whatever she wants.’ 

'She will be happier there than she will ever be here.' The doctor said.

He felt redeemed by the idea, especially after proclaiming its existence for many years – Eternal Paradise. 

For a second, he questioned whether he was doing this for her or himself. He scanned the cold, metallic room. Capsules stretched around him, each one holding a stranger. The air was chilled, tinged with a faint musk. He touched the glass, its smooth surface unyielding beneath his fingers, and blinked, struggling to adjust—not just to the dim light, but to what it all meant.

What did it mean to live? Would she actually be happy living in a virtual world?

She wouldn’t know it, but could he live with it?

‘Maybe,’ he thought.

He stared at his unconscious daughter as she lay there peacefully. His pinky twitched again. A man was only as good as his word, and he had promised her that they would live happily ever after.

'I understand.' He told the doctor firmly.

He hooked her pinky one last time. 

'Sweet dreams, my princess.'