A spider spins its web around its victim. Pity oozes out, seeping through silk threads.

I watch it subconsciously. My mother always told me “don’t look for an escape, build a home.”

The spider isn’t a victim. Neither is the fly. The bird eats the spider, the spider eats the fly.

The bird is the victim. because the man hunts it down. How do I build a home out of land owned by a shooting ground?

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