Near the network.

I don't listen anymore. I run. Fast. Faster. Farther and farther. I bounce off the walls. I can't see anything. A fork in the road. I run right. Next. Right again, then left. Straight ahead. A long way. I run into a wall. I bounce, but it comes back. The wall catches me. It surrounds me. I cling to my back. It paralyzes my arms, my legs. It immobilizes them. I yank my torso. I cling tighter. I calm down. ("The Web"). I yank. Hard. Once. Twice, three times. Nothing. Again. Nothing. My back clings more tightly to the web. Something wet drips from above. On my head. Goo floods my eyes. It flows into my mouth. It clogs my nose, ears, throat. I'm wet and sticky. I can't breathe. I wheeze. I yank again. To no avail. I rest. My wrists are glued. My elbows, my shoulders, my back too. I can move my hands. I flex my right hand. A crunch in my joint. It hurts. I dig my fingers into the spiderweb. It bends but doesn't break. Again. Nothing. I scratch with my index finger. ("Why did I cut my nails yesterday.") I catch on a bump. I tear a piece off with my fingernail. I hear a sound in the distance. A noise. Panting in the darkness. I freeze. I listen. Smacking, shuffling, and the rustle of many footsteps. Small, uneven. I scratch again. Harder, faster. I twist my left hand. My nails tear at the surface. The panting comes closer. The web's fibers snap. It's closer. I smell the stench. I scratch harder and harder. I can now insert a finger. One, two. The hole widens. My left hand is completely inside. Soon, so is my right. I turn my hands. To the right. To the left. Faster and faster. I scrape the skin against the edges of the holes. They grow larger. A crack forms. It connects the two holes. I can already feel the breath on my face. The limbs are groping my legs. (“For all our brothers, death”). I stretch the net. The crack widens. They grab my knees. The net splits between the holes. It tears. I fall inside. I kick my legs. I tear. I spit the mucus from my throat. I tear my back completely. I throw out the remnants of the web. I flee. On all fours. I stop around the corner. Far away. I stand. I wipe the goo off me. I wipe my face with my sleeve. I clean my hair with a tissue. The goo runs down and forms a puddle. I wipe my clothes against the wall vigorously. My jacket. My pants, my shirt. Down to the blood. Down to the bones. Nothing left. The goo on the floor is getting thicker and thicker. Some of it soaks in at my feet. It's getting muddy. The mud is already up to my knees. I stretch out my right leg. Heavy. Slowly. I have to brace myself against the wall with my hands. I press my hands against the wall and lift my leg. With effort. I look down. The goo is dripping. I hold my leg high, bent at the knee. I feel the warmth in my hands. I look up. The wall glows. I look. I can see something. Dimly. The wall is transparent. I peer in. I see the apartment and the family preparing for dinner. ("I thought it was only noon").