My office borders a large golf course.  As you would expect, golf balls have a strange habit of flying around the air around here; if they've been hit at all haphazardly, it's likely they will fly into a window or car.  And they seem to.  Often.  It's extremely unnerving to work here.

About ten minutes ago, I was sitting at my desk, calm.  My eyes darted to the wall beside me, just barely capturing a spider, dancing along the walls, throwing his plans to the wind and living free.  My primal instincts took over, and I reached for a book to squish him with.  I tried.  BAM.  He jumped away right before the book hit.

I should note that, prior to this, I'd never seen a spider jump.  This is strange and alien to me.  I was then terrified; not for myself, but for the entire human race.  I was on a mission.  The spider must be destroyed, lest he reproduce and create a super-race of jumping spiders.  The results will be disastrous.  They'll be upon us like locusts.  Really, more like spiders, I guess.  You get the idea.

I stare at the spider.  I imagined he was staring back at me; I couldn't really see well enough to tell.  I don't think spiders have pupils, either; even if I could make out his eyes, it would be like staring at a camera.  One of those cameras that department stores have in every single aisle.  I hate those.

Like teenagers playing chicken, we had the shimmer of determination in our eyes.  We were there for the kill.  I pulled back my arm.  My teeth were gritted.  My eyebrow was furrowed.  I was drenched in sweat merely from the stress of considering the mighty task I had before me.  The entire world comes down to this.  I squinted my eyes and swung the book forward.

The very instant that my book hit the wall, I heard a deafening boom.  No more than a foot beside me, the entire 3 foot by 6 foot glass window had completely shattered and fallen to the ground.  In the corner of my eye, I saw a golf ball rolling on the floor beside me; it must have flown through the window.  I blinked, twice, no, three times, trying to take in what had just happened.  I lifted my book and looked at the wall: there was nothing on it.  There was nothing on the book, either.

I looked around at the room, the floor underneath me.  I saw no spider.  He had escaped.

The spider has surely gone off and made dozens of children by now.  If the entire human race is extinguished because of this, blame corporate executives who have nothing more important to do on a Monday morning than golf. Blame the system that gave them that power; because of them, we are all surely doomed. But don't blame me. I tried my best.