I wondered how a spider would taste.

Hairy, I suppose, wriggly too… with a soft centre.

It disappeared behind the tree.

A light mist had stolen its way into the scene, muffling the sound of my brother, sweaty, panting, crunching his way to the end of the hole with a shovel that was far from ideal.

I pondered my ability to drift off from the craziness of these circumstances to the bizarre thought of sucking on a spider.

I suppose in this case it had something to do with the utter lack of feeling for the person now being covered over by Pete.

He lingered on the squat railway bridge, the canvas bag wriggling in his hand, as he sucked the life from a cigarette.

Nervous now, a torpor had gripped him… and he yawned.

A wisp of the assassin smoke lingered in the hair protruding from his nostrils, dispelled as he exhaled with a sigh and then a rattling cough.