I hate a lot of things. Snakes, bugs of any kind, dogs, cats.
The thing I hate the most, though, is spiders. It's the way they move.
It creeps me out when they walk, slowly, toward their prey, then all of a sudden they flash outward and the prey becomes a meal. Then there's the ones that just move erratically, awkwardly, as if they were caught in a strobe light. If all of the spiders in the world died, I would be incredibly relieved.

One night, I saw a spider on the wall in my room. I grabbed a boot from my closet, quietly snuck up to it, and brought the leathery justice down upon the fury, eight-legged creature. I pulled the shoe back off the wall and saw its green, slimy guts splattered across the wall. Satisfied, I crawled into bed and rested well.

The next morning rolled around and I slowly got up, pulled my covers off, and got my glasses on. I glanced over at the wall that I had delivered the sole of my shoe to last night. I continued to put my pants back on for an instant, but again I quickly turned my head around and this time stared at the spot. The green had entirely disappeared, and in its place were two of the little suckers. I, for the second time, grabbed my shoe and smashed them both.

The rest of the day went normally; bus, school, bus, home.
I arrived in my room, but my bag down, and sat on my bed. I pulled my homework out and, for some reason, again glanced at the wall. No green.
Just four spiders, all sitting idly in one little spot, almost as if they were watching my every move. I quickly grabbed my shoe, ignoring stealth completely, ran over to them and proceeded to smash them to bits. I ground them into the wall, wiped them off, cleaned the wall,
and cleaned the sole of the boot. I then ran to the sore, bought repellent, and sprayed it along the entire stretch of the wall.

The next morning, I got up, slowly, smoothly. Not even opening my eyes, I pulled on my pants and glasses. I then slowly, very slowly,
opened them and faced the wall. Eight spiders. Counted. Eight. I freaked out. I grabbed everything I could and smashed all of them to little kibblets. This was not the end.

Not five days later, and the entire wall was covered in the sons. I had to keep a big can of poison to kill them all, and the next day they always returned, doubled. I had enough. I called the exterminator. A day later and he had killed every single living thing in that godforsaken house. I went back to bed happily.

I had an odd dream. I was running down the hall of the school to my next class, which was getting farther and farther away. I was being covered in a very odd feeling wool. Every step I took, the wool covered more and more of me, until I was almost smothered in it. I woke up to find no spiders on the wall. I woke up to a very large,
hairy group of spiders climbing up my bed, moving around me, on top of me. I couldn't move. All I could do was look around and breath very heavily, very shallowly. After every spider in the room had situated itself upon my bed and I, they turned around to face me. Several dozen little furry freaks, all staring right into my eyes. As if they were reading my soul. Then they all put their heads down and bit every part of me they could find.

I hate a lot of things. Snakes, bugs of any kind, dogs, cats.
The thing I hate the most, though, is spiders.