She sat at the kitchen table, a rocks glass in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling madly through tweet after tweet as though she might find treasure there, beneath the liquid crystal surface.

"Fuck." She tossed the phone aside.

A spider made its way around the edge of the table until it reached the barricade of her forearm.

As the spider paused, she considered the purple and bloody bruise circling the first knuckle of her thumb. The blood red matched the burgundy of her wine.

"That's gonna leave a damn scar."

She rose to refill her drink.

Come and play 100 Word Song: Hotel Illness over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.