Childhood Friends (Short autobiographical story)

The memory is not my own. So I can only assume it was the movement that made all the difference. I was young, three at the time, and still in those dark, unconscious years of early life. So when I try to picture it, my mind reflexively changes the context. I am in my childhood home, with white walls, and the spider draws my attention because it seems out of place. The contrast jumps out like a flower against an earthy background.