Search
  • Neon Mariposa Magazine

Spiders on Goodrich Avenue by Zach Murphy

A fine mist lingered as Dao went for an early morning run on Goodrich Avenue. The only problem with running before sunrise is that she was the first person to brush through all the spiderwebs that formed overnight. It isn’t a particularly comfortable feeling — sticky strings clinging to your face. Dao didn’t fault the spiders, though. In fact, she admired their ways. How did they spin such intricate beauty?

On the way back to her small art studio, Dao noticed that one of her shoes became untied. After tying the laces, Dao popped back up and gazed upon an imposing mansion. The thing looked more like a castle than a home. Ambitious vines sprawled across the bricks, as if wanting to smother the enormous structure into oblivion. Dao stood there and wondered how much it would cost just to heat the place, especially if the people living there had cold hearts.

Just then, an elderly man wearing a painfully obvious wig and a bitter scowl poked his head outside of the lumbering front door and yelled, “Do you have a problem, miss?

“No,” Dao answered, quietly.

“Then why are you standing there staring at my house?” the old man asked.

Dao paused.

“It’s ugly,” she said.

Dao sped off with a satisfied smirk. I am a spider, she thought to herself.






Zach Murphy is a Hawaii-born writer who somehow ended up in the often chilly but charming land of St. Paul, Minnesota. His stories have appeared in Peculiars Magazine, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, WINK, and the Wayne Literary Review. He lives with his wonderful wife Kelly and loves cats and movies.

6 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

the grand tour by Angelina Martin

the cankerous grackles in the parking lots swarming in synchronicity like a biblical plague they don’t scare easy no matter how mean you make your face instead they congregate right in your path and t

Cat Gut by Holly Day

across the room from me, my guitar pulses bright colors, throbs dreams I can’t ignore. I think about sleep but the music’s too loud. my guitar sprouts lilies not intended to twine, purrs of birds I’ll

Three Poems by Jenny Andres

Hope to Thaw If I were frozen in the ground, I’d hope to thaw. I’m left with muddy footprints and sticky fingers- I’m a thief. I stole what I needed to survive: a wet tongue, a Celtic cross against a

©2018 by Neon Mariposa Magazine. Proudly created with Wix.com

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now