He was abnormal. But he was the cool kind of abnormal where you could still be yourself, appear normal, and be able to still be so different and show off your abilities to everyone and no one. The reason he was so different was because he had a connection, a connection to a species that most feared just for being who they were, a species that while doing good were killed daily for what they did.
Spiders.
Matt was not one to say they were creepy. In fact, he rather liked spiders. If they were creepy, then he could be labeled as a creeper as well. Of all the spiders that existed, from the Rhabidosa rabida to the Hololena frianta, his favorite was the Brachypelma smithii, otherwise known to the world as the Mexican Red-Knee Tarantula.
Though obviously uncommon in England and hard to come by, Matt couldn't help but be drawn to the way the spider presented itself. Its colors that mocked the Halloween night and acted so much like Matt's own striped shirts, covering an otherwise naked body which held many secrets. Its fluid movements were like Matt's own fingers, flying over the keyboard on a laptop or the commands on his Nintendo DSi. And above all, its hidden store of poison was almost like Matt's stash of cigarettes. Though the poison within a spider was a reserve and Matt had to put the cigarettes' nicotine within his body from the outside world, it was the same principal of carrying a poison within a body that was merely mortal and that in itself was the connection between Matt and spiders.
That connection had been tried many times without Matt or the spiders knowing it. There was one time at the orphanage, at dinner, when suddenly a shriek echoed in the hall and Linda was running from her chair, cowering behind another orphan – it was S, if Matt remembered correctly – and pointing to where her food was. Matt had looked over and seen first two legs, then six, and then all eight as the spider – a Pholcus phalangioides – emerged on the top of the table, heading towards her plate of food.
Everyone had stood still. A few boys remarked on how chicken she was and yet, no one approached the spider. Matt wondered why someone didn't just let it be on its way or pick it up to take it outside. Seeing as how no one would move, Matt finally stood up, walked over, and presented his hand to the spider while blocking its path from Linda's food. Almost immediately, the spider crawled into his hand and he lifted it up off the table before turning away and walking off, moving his arm with the spider to make sure the little thing didn't fall off. He noticed he was being followed and he let out an inaudible sigh before turning around halfway with an evil glint in his eye, an evil smirk playing on his lips. "Who wants to get bitten first?"
A few must have screamed, as Matt recalled, but either way, they all scattered. Matt rolled his eyes. For crap's sake. It was common knowledge that pholcid venom, which the spider on his wrist carried, didn't affect humans. There was no record of anyone dying from a bite from a house spider. Plus this spider had tiny little fangs that would barely puncture his skin. He shrugged to himself as he headed to his room, letting the spider crawl all around his arm, up and then turn back down to his wrist.
Matt glanced up as someone came into view out of the corner of his eye. It was Roger. The old man caught sight of the boy with the spider and blinked. "Matt, what are you doing?"
The gamer shrugged and the spider settled on top of his wrist. "Saving Linda's food."
"Matt, you need dispose of the spider at once. Take it outside."
Matt knew this was where his abnormality came into play. His connection with spiders was being challenged again. Indirectly, yes, but still challenged. The spider was not even a weight on him and what was the deal with sending out spiders into the cold? Matt wouldn't mind the guy living in his room. "You want me to take outside in the cold?"
"It's only a spider, Matt," Roger sighed.
The gamer stared. "I'm only an orphan."
"It's not the same thing. Let it go."
"If this life holds no value, then my life doesn't either. Stop making so little sense, Roger."
"Matt." Roger was stern now. "Most of the orphans here have arachnophobia. If they find your little friend, we could have quite an episode."
"Then I'll make sure he doesn't get out." Even as he said that, Matt knew he was fighting a losing game.
"This is the last time I will say it," Roger said sternly, but still kindly, like the old comforting man he was. "Let it go."
Matt watched the old man walk off down the stairs, presumably to go down to the dinner room and make sure everything was in order. The gamer looked down at the spider on his wrist, feeling oddly sorry for it. Like hell he was going to leave the spider outside.
"You're comin' with me," he muttered. He walked to his room and shut the door, placing the spider on his box of cigarettes. The spider twitched and began to move, crawling across his desk and up the wall. Matt watched its progress until it settled in the corner on the ceiling, unmoving.
Matt smiled and took out a cigarette. The spider wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.