It was a feast unlike any other meal we ever sat down to in our sheltered little lives, my brothers and sisters and I. No one spoke much as we got settled; we never were a chatty family and mother had on her most serious face for the duration, so none us were minded to cross her. It was her special day, after all. It had been ages in preparation. Well, you know what mothers are like: always fussing over the tiniest details, always wanting everything just so.
Sat at the head of the family, mother folded her arms, proudly, as she looked over my brothers and sisters and I; our eager, hungry little faces all aglow. Then she folded her arms impatiently, I thought; because we were all standing on ceremony a bit and none of us had started tucking in. Then she folded her arms with resolution and a sigh. I knew what she meant. All my brothers and sisters say it’s always been me who was closest to our mother. I suppose there’s a bond that grows up between mother and eldest daughter, a recognition of sorts. Everyone says I have her eyes and some of my mannerisms are the spitting image of hers, I’m told. So, mother and I never needed to rely on words to spell out our ideas to one another. Between us, a look or a shrug or a smile or a sigh was always enough.
So, it was me who first sampled the feast.
I heard there’s a celebration called Mother’s Day that originated in the United States somewhere; it was probably designed to sell some more greetings cards, flowers, etc. Well, we Stegodyphus aren’t at all a commercial species but we’ve been celebrating our mothers since we first evolved from the web. We celebrate every delicious part of her.
So, my siblings soon joined me as my smiling, venomous, spiky, little fangs sank deep into mother’s sparkly, loving eyes. And as the goo of her filled me up, nourishing me for a final time with all that maternal tenderness she always swore by, I wondered about the little family I’ll hatch myself one day. And will any of my daughters have her grandmother’s mannerisms, that same generous glow I always saw in her eyes?
This short story was written in response to the latest TipsyLit writing prompt:This week’s prompt must include an unusual or unfamiliar food. Your character could love it or hate it, struggle to determine how to eat it, not recognize it as food, there are so many possibilities.
So, I thought I’d focus on the most incredible meal I can think of.