Pheromone Flaws

The butter was too hard again, and ripped his last piece of bread into two shoddy halves.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t swear.”

“Look, sometimes swearing is necessary; it’s an exclamation, a show of frustration or annoyance. It’s a wonderful nuance of the English language and so I’ll use it to its full extent whenever I so please, thank you very much.”

“Hmm, I see. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Fuck you.”

Arthur’s life had become much more difficult since all the bugs in his flat had developed a voice, and so he squashed the offended beetle with the plate that held his now deformed breakfast.

“Now really Arthur, that wasn’t very nice at all! The poor fellow was only trying to improve your diction. I dare say you could do with it, always muttering and mumbling the way you do.” A moth on the ceiling had obviously witnessed the morning’s fiasco and decided to join in, knowing he was safe from the ceramic, butter smeared weapon.

“Oh for the love of god”, sighed Arthur as he turned to face his latest accuser. “Can’t a man show a little misery anymore without being berated for it? What’s wrong with a touch of pessimism every now and then? There’s no use going through life with a false grin on all the time, pretending that the world is fine and dandy when it’s not.”

“But what’s so wrong with the world Arthur, shouldn’t you be happy? You’ve got it better than most!”

“What’s wrong is that my house is infested with judgemental, condescending, pompous, talking insects. Not to mention the fact that my breakfast is well and truly FUBARed.”

“FUBARed?”

“Yeah, Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.”
“Easy now Arthur! What have we just said about the cursing? I know that sometimes a man needs to get something off his chest but there really is no excuse for …oh.”
Arthur had already left the room.

After abandoning any hope at a breakfast, at least one without any more casualties, Arthur decided it would be best to start the day fresh with a nice shower. Cleanse the body, cleanse the mind, and wrestle the day back into the realm of something potentially worthwhile. He shed his pyjamas in the flat’s single bedroom, leaving them piled up on his bed as always, and headed to the bathroom completely naked. He tried to ignore the sniggers and chuckles from the woodlice as he walked down the corridor.

“Go on, go on! Do it!” One woodlouse whispered urgently to another, nudging his hard grey back.

“But he might squish us! You’ve heard the rumours about what happened to old Keith in the kitchen this morning!”
“Nah, we’ll be fine, if he comes for us we can just hide in the wall, or pretend it was one of the flies. Come on, grow a pair and do it!”

“Ok, alright, ok. Here it goes.” The woodlouse filled his tiny lungs and screamed, “CALL THAT A DICK?!”

“Oh my god! As if you actually did it! Did he hear you, is he coming?”

“Nah. Doesn’t look like it…”

“Well, if he didn’t hear you then it doesn’t count.”

“What?! Yes it does! The action still remains whether he heard me or not. It does so count.”

“Nah mate, sorry, doesn’t count.”

“Well stuff you, I’m counting it.”

“Whatever, I’m bored.”

With that the woodlouse scurried back into a damp piece of flooring, leaving his disheartened colleague to ponder on whether a courageous act that goes unnoticed is indeed a courageous act. He became so consumed by this idea that he lost all awareness of the world around him, and Arthur unwittingly vacuumed him up a few days later. His final cries of, “My courage internal, my bravery eternal!” drowned out by the vacuum’s suction.

Arthur stepped into the bathroom and locked the door firmly behind him, before resting his soft pink hide on the edge of the bath. He had heard the woodlouse, but decided it best not to react. All they wanted was to get a rise out of you. After a few moments contemplation he stood up and, rubbing his weary eyes with one hand, reached out with the other to turn on the shower. Just as his fingers touched the rusted chrome tap, a gravelly and spite filled voice calmly whispered into his ear,
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you pal.”

Arthur whipped around so quickly that he nearly went head first over the side of the tub. Managing to claw back some balance and composure, he saw a fairly large house spider hanging from the light fixture, a few inches away from his head.

“Careful there lad, don’t want anyone getting hurt now do we?” snickered the spider. “So to that effect, as I said, move away from that tap you were about to turn.”

“And why exactly would I do that, Mr Spider?” Replied Arthur, with a sarcastic tone to his voice, embarrassed at having reacted so nervously. “It’s my shower and I want to use it, why should I be put off by the aggressive and likely inconsequential threats of an eight legged creep like you?”

“Because, you mouthy sack of meat, my wife has got herself stuck in that bath. If you turn that tap, she drowns. If she drowns, then I will personally guarantee that I and every other spider in this house exact our silky revenge upon you nightly.”

At this Arthur turned back to the bath and saw that there was indeed another, even bigger spider scrambling up the side before slipping back down the porcelain.

“Quite the ultimatum,” Arthur said as he turned back to the protective male. “What do you suggest I do about it though? I still need to shower after all, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Well seeing as I’m a spider, and have therefore never had any use of a shower, I’ll say that I don’t fully understand, no. However, the fact remains that if you turn that tap, my beautiful wife will die. Therefore, I’d think long and hard about what your next moves are, and come to some sort of conclusion wherein my wife is no longer in said bath when you do decide to turn the tap. Understood?”

Arthur couldn’t believe his day. He’d already been berated by a beetle, chastised by a moth and ridiculed by a woodlouse. Now he was naked and being threatened by some anarchic arachnid. With nothing more than a moody nod to the spider, he left the bathroom and plodded back towards his bedroom. When the woodlice again whistled and jeered him, he jerked his foot towards them, as if he intended to bring it down and crush them. They all fled at this speedy movement, other than one, who remained motionless. Arthur couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be in very deep contemplation about something. Once back in his room he quickly located a dirty glass and a magazine and returned to the bathroom.

“You’d best be bloody careful with them,” said the spider, still dangling from the bulb.

“Don’t worry yourself,” said Arthur. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help an idiotic spider that’s stupidly fallen into my bath.”

“Seeing as you’re helping us out here, I’ll let that one slide. Enough with the insults though. Ok?”

Muttering something incomprehensible to himself, Arthur descended towards the trapped spider, glass upturned. Carefully he positioned it so that, when it was brought down, the spider would fit neatly within the circumference of the rim. He didn’t want her losing any limbs; god knows what her maniacal husband might do. With a light, “clink” against the bath, the glass fell snuggly into place around her. Arthur let out a sigh of relief. It was going to be ok. However, the now trapped female had different ideas, and chose this moment to lose all sense of composure and dignity.

“Holy fucking shit! I’m trapped! Help me, help me, help me! DENNIS! WHERE ARE YOU?! I can’t breathe, I’m suffocating, the air in here isn’t right, it’s deadly and he’s trying to murder me!!!!”
She started jumping up the side of the glass, trying to claw her way up and banging herself on the upturned base. Arthur used one of these opportunities to slide the magazine underneath her, thus muting her panicked cries and enabling him to lift her up. He glanced fearfully at the male, who had relocated himself to get a better view, and now watched from atop the curtain rail.
“Don’t worry lad, that’s just her claustrophobia kicking in,” He said to Arthur, easing the look of dread that had crawled across his face. Then, to his wife, “It’s alright darling, the meatball’s helping you. You’ll be out soon.”

Though this had little effect on the tinny screaming, it certainly made Arthur feel a bit better. The fret of a silky doom really wasn’t something he wanted to add to his list of worries.

“Now, just you lay that glass down carefully on its side on the windowsill, that’s it.”
Arthur did as he was told, lay the glass down gently and removed the magazine from the opening. This assuaged the cries from inside the glass, and she began to make her way out, softly whimpering now.

“Good, good. Now then Arthur, if you would be so kind as to open the window, we’ll leave you to wash that soft pinkness of yours and be on our way.”

Relieved to have the end of this ordeal in sight, Arthur quickly grabbed for the latch. Unfortunately the window had fallen into a state of disrepair, and so needed a fair shove in order to release it from its frame. However, Arthur was far too keen and overzealous with his shoving on this occasion, and the window flung open violently under his force. Arthur stumbled forward, half hanging out of the window. He had the displeasure of watching as everything from the sill cascaded away from him, out of the window and down to the concrete, many floors below. His toothbrush, comb and shaver all met grizzly ends, but Arthur was transfixed only on the glass that slipped slowly away from him, the screams of the spider growing fainter and fainter until they abruptly ended, the glass popping on the pavement.

Arthur withdrew slowly from the window, and saw that the male spider was also on the sill now, staring down at where his wife lay crumpled among a million shards of glass. Arthur backed slowly out of the bathroom and slammed the door. From inside he could hear the muffled wailing of the recently widowed spider and the flurry of threats thrown towards the firmly shut door. Troubled, he traipsed back to his room to get ready for work. It seemed there would be neither breakfast nor shower this morning.

Solemnly, Arthur donned his uniform. Big boots, green shorts and a green shirt with the words, “Reptile House” emblazoned across the back. He sat a while on the edge of his bed, lost in thought. Gradually, a satisfied smile crept across his face. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door.