Old 100 word story, rediscovered

by Iain Lowson

Did it know, he wonders, that it was dying?  Sitting there, waiting with the patience attributed to its kind, did it know?  Was it aware of crossing the point beyond which it lacked the energy to move?  There was a fly in the web, unmolested, twitching.  Had the spider seen it?  Was the irony lost on it as it squatted there, watching unattainable salvation's futile struggles?  Did it feel frustration?  Like him.  Weary resignation?  Like him.  Did its solitary scream of pointless rage go unheard?  Ugly dead thing, he blankly thinks, before turning the vacuum on it and moving on.