What was it thinking then? It was on the wall. The eight-legged being, dark and skeptical,  on the wall. It was sedentary there, no doubt just as scared as the human, probably even more. What was it thinking then, the eight-legged being, on the wall, staring at the giant like an owl in the dark? What was it thinking then, the eight-legged being, just minding your own business, and then you discover yourself with a slipper over your head? What was it thinking then, the eight-legged being, just roaming around, just starting life, and, as if out of nowhere, it terminates? What was it thinking then, the eight-legged being, ruthlessly murdered for harming no one? What was it thinking then?