Guam, where there are no longer any birds. I walk into a mess of spider webs. Spiders and spiders, and no birds to eat them.

I paw through the webs, wanting to be brave about it, not squeamish and afraid. I am uncomfortable but push forward anyway. These webs are lovely, and unlike any real-life webs I’ve seen. These are curlicued swirls of fine cotton. Mist-like and seemingly substanceless. They stick to me anyway, and everywhere. To my face, hands, and clothes.

I sweep my way along. Someone else is there, and they don’t warn against what I’m doing. This adds to my confidence, so I continue.

Next thing, hundreds of extremely tiny amber spiders are everywhere on me and biting. I rub at them and try to kill and smack them away. They mostly get my hands, but I feel one now and then up around my neck or in some hard to see place. I look carefully. There are equally tiny and similarly colored scorpions on me as well. It is horrible but I realize I can’t freak out. I have to keep it together to get them off me.

After a while I am clear of them all. My hands are puffy, warm and hurting. I look at them and see hundreds of tiny bumps. The spiders have laid their eggs under my skin. I don’t know what to do, and realize I need a doctor to help. I fight an urge to take a knife to my skin and cut the eggs away. I want to pop them like little caviars, but worry this may not be the best thing to do. I think of drowning them by immersing my hands in something caustic like vinegar. This is all I remember.