The Spidre-Lily
As he bade his ancient America farewell under the title, 'First President Elect',George Washingtongave some parting advice to his young Nation. His young Nation, now a people- the only people in the world, it seemed who were safe from the marauding French and their ruthless leader Napoleon. His advice..."Beware of Entangling Alliances."
In other words children... DON'T DEAL OR TRADE WITH EUROPE WHILE SHE'S IN THE MIDDLE OF A GODDAMN WAR.
Indeed it seems he spoke commandingly from his own grave experiences.
His Majesty the President is himself suspected of consorting with a Spidre Lily. How else on Colonial Earth do you think he could have had the foresight to know at this moment what was best for the country? You see, during this stressful period in history, the only thing keeping us out of the Napoleonic Wars was Washington and The Great Atlantic {known just a few centuries prior as 'The Sea Of Darkness'}.
He was flanked by trusted friends each a monger for wartime participation. George's right hand man, The Ambitious Alexander Hamilton, Father of Capitalism, campaigned for America to side with England {England!} lest we miss a profitable opportunity to Trade with the world's largest Empire. Washington's Left hand man, The Eloquent and comparatively honorable 'Mr. Declaration Of Independence' himself, Thomas Jefferson believed in the power of Democracy to rise above all Tyranny. He recommended we side with the French rebels. "This is the Age of Revolution and the French need our help!"
Washington, not remembered for making good decisions, for once knew better than Jefferson. The President knew that the statement,"This War is neither our business nor our concern." Was the sound doctrine of the age. He knew this from experience for once he, himself had committed the regrettable act of getting mixed up with a Spidre Lily.
To allie with a Spidre Lily is to become entangled in something from which ye would be better off, seeking escape. Struggle ye may try but ye will be caught like a fly. The only thing you can do is wait for her to traverse through the morass of sticky webbing until she reaches you and then...
...Ye will wait some more. She will decide what fate she will bestow upon you. No matter who ye be, she will bring you down like rain. She will drive you to uncontrollable weeping as it is your tears for which she yearns. These tears glitter about her web like Jewels. She will then turn you, now a broken soul, into a Spidre and she will keep you close to her forever. Ye shall be forced to weave a web eternally around her cold body.
So why was President Washington able to get away from the Spidre Lily he encountered? Maybe he didn't. Maybe she captured him in some other way. That is probably why he decreed to step down after his second term. Perhaps in addition to being weary of entangling alliances, he also was watchful of the insidiousness of absolute control.
The President-Elect first heard about Spidre Lilies from his olde and learned friend, Benjamin Franklin. Franklin was a revered man among the Ladies. Armed with a great sense of humor, a worldly gentleman's education, he was washed in female affections almost as much as he was washing them in fine porcelain and pewter tubs . Washington, ever the Picsian, was enchanted by the opposite sex and harbored a fascination for mysticism. It was merely a matter of time before he went off seeking the alluring subject of Franklin's dark legend.
Our Battle-hardened Commander was eager to return to Lake Huron. He had served in the French and Indian Wars and something about the forests by that old lake never left him. When he and his men had first passed through there, they heard noises which sounded peculiarly akin to hard breathing and shrieks of a woman-like creature in the heat of her passion. Indeed this was a carnal place which no sexually deprived soldier was libel to soon forget.
Our Mr.President rightly deduced upon hearing Franklin's Tale that it was infact a Spidre Lily he had heard. It had to be. He became obsessed. The newly-elected first President's own unique manifest destiny was sealed. He would hunt this irresistible quarry. And why not. He bade Martha and their six children {begotten by her previous and deceased husband} goodbye under false pretenses of an exciting hunting expedition. It was the Indian Summer of 1789. The Revolutionary War was speedily acquiescing to it's new status as a resounding success thanks to it's celebrated General and now First President- Elect. But now the Constitution was being dealt with... Without George's help. He was known for his Traveling.
Now in the forest's of Lake Huron, the retired General observed that the trees had turned blacker than usual. One such section of the forest had excessively darkened. Branches on the old trees seemed to twist and writhe in every direction. They curled and coiled almost like great wooden springs. Upon closer examination one could spy millions of silvery cables draping lazily about the strange vegetation. Spidre Webs. Upon seeing this, Washington beckoned his men with a grim resolve that their path lay directly through the unsettling woodland. His men however staunchly refused to follow him.
And so Washington elected to go himself. For some reason this was not protested. he took a rifle, a musket, three days supply of food, some hash and proceeded, sword in hand. He instructed his men that if he was not back within two days it was because he had been "captured my Indians." If he was gone three days, he may "be facing off a great bear". Yes he had his quirky side...then again it might have been the hash.
He entered the peculiar forest and strangely the sky immediately darkened. By his pocket watch the time read 1:45pm yet already, he was using his lantern to see the watch in the first place. Sure enough there was moonlight on the branches... and lots of spidre webs. Indeed it seemed that there was more of them than trees. As our fearless leader pressed on he was more and more covered in the clinging annoyances. Soon, he had the guise of a shimmering spectre and were someone to happen upon him like this, the Father of Our Country might have spawned a very different kind of legend. Eventually he spied a clearing and as he stepped into it he began to feel there was movement around him. As he raised the lantern high and true, the eerie truth revealed itself with generosity: he was surrounded by spidres! They were scurrying across the ground, up the twisted trees, clattering over dead leaves- all rushing up to meet him. They seemed to be reacting to his lantern as well. He could almost make out giggles and sobs from the poor critters. They all stopped at about a diameter around him of three feet.
The entire forest seemed to stare at him with a kind of libido. The effect was so arresting, he began to feel faint, queasy, and altogether exhausted. The air was still and quiet. Then that scream rose up in the distance again. That woman scream. That scream that made soldiers hot under the collar in the middle of the Wintre Woodlands. That scream that made a man sick with longing. Aye that was the scream. And then it faded away. And just as he started for the direction from whence it came, he heard something alarmingly closer. It was the sound of dead leaves crunching under foot. In the distant darkness, he could barely make out the countenance of a pale figure walking towards him. He lowered his sword and absently, he dropped it. Eventually the figured revealed itself to be a woman and to his delight, she was almost unclothed save for a dress which seemed to be made of a giant Spidre web. 'What on Earth was the point of that?', he wondered. Then there was movement in the Spidre ranks as some either cleared a path for her or others began slowly climbing up her webbed dress which glistened silver in the moonlight. And she continued her advance toward him.
Our Mighty Commender In Chief wanted to run but he stood fast. He was forced to watch her approach much like an ensnared fly watches a Spidre advance nearer and dreadfully nearer. Then he was seized with tears- tears of surrender! He was here... with her...and he never wanted to leave. At the same time, he was in a reality too unfamiliar and in his confusion he ached for something resembling the logic of Man's world. She had reached him now...then she put out her long arms to him like a child who seeks an embrace from her parent or...was it like a mother who craves to hold her son. No matter but that is the kind of mystical quality of a Spidre Lily. Impossible to resist her, he gave himself to be taken in by those arms. She held him gently as he sobbed uncontrollably, covering the strands of webbing which adorned her body with tears that clung to the intricate thread work. They sparkled in the moon light, like dew drops and moon stones. It was as though she had procured some new jewelry from him. As the moonlight hit each drop there was a quiet ring like a row of small bells. As the ring grew in pitch the drops stiffened and miraculously... they hatched into tiny white spidres! She slowly threw her head back in a sigh of satisfaction, her squared shoulders shivered with a ripple of laughter.
He desired more of her- all of her. He wanted possession of this mysterious woman. His hands grasped her moonlight skin and almost as soon as he moved to dig his wooden teeth into her neck there was the sound of a squish under his boot followed by a small voice crying out. The cry was joined by a rising shriek from The Spidre Lili and suddenly our President felt a small foot on his stomach. Before he could react the foot sent him backward where the back of his head lead the rest of him to the hard ground below. It was not enough to stop our leader and though his skull rang with impact he mobilized to get back in position and over take this willful creature who had knelt down to tend to her squashed servant. But just as the murder came into his eyes he was stopped short by her removing of the webbed gown. She now stood before him, her only clothing in her hand. In her other hand she held the dying Spidre as its pale yellow blood glistened in the ghostly hour. He beheld her in the moonlight and a tear returned to his eye. The brief moment of control returned and he moved towards her.
In a single movement, she countered backwards and threw the webbed dress on him and upon contact it contracted around him. He tripped and went for a second meeting with the wet earth. He looked up through the merciless webbing, which obstructed some of his vision to the woman who stood over him. Their eyes met and for a painful eternity he understood her emotional logic. To her, he was every bit as naked.
Then she turned and walked back into the forest, followed by an entire civilization of tiny eight-legged loyalists. He watched her vanish, wondering at what had happened- did it happen? And the sickening truth set in: he was now cursed to love her and never find her again. For the rest of his days he would brood and weave his thoughts on this impossible night. Within an hour of stepping into the forest, the Great George Washington was now a deeply haunted man. And in this difficult moment, his blubbering turned to laughter then back to tears and again- laughter- all the while alone and entangled in a great spidre web, what else to do was there but to contemplate the ridiculousness of his brutal thoughts? It would be several hours before he could muster the resolve to wriggle over to his sword and awkwardly cut his way free of his morbid cocoon.