3. Self Reflection

I am moping on the kitchen table as Mel heats up some pancakes in the microwave. I glance up to watch her run the stool step she is using to get the peanut butter across the room to get the syrup. She then runs to the other side of the kitchen when the microwave goes off to get the pancakes.

I feel my mood slightly brighten when she tries to get the plates down without the stool step and has to run back to grab the stool. Hah, shorty!

Mel grabs two plates and loads them with pancake-y goodness. Spreading peanut butter on one and jam on the other, she then slathers both with copious amounts of syrup. Walking over to the table I’m sprawled out on with both plates she sets the jam one down in front of me. I feel a slight twinge of guilt about the hypocritical shorty comment, but I let it slide for now. I’ll give her an internal apology later. Right now, I was busy pouting!

I hadn’t screamed. Thank goodness for that! Doing it once in a day was embarrassing enough but twice! I think I would rather die. Multiple times where no one can see me preferably.

I had just been getting psyched up that my spider memories could be somewhat useful when the realization that hundreds of years of combat and insect brutalization didn’t come without its fair share of baggage when dumped into a thirteen-year-old girls head. To put it simply, I have some traumas I didn’t have yesterday.

When Mel had reached down to help me up, I had been shaking so badly that Mel thought she’d killed me. It had taken ten minutes to calm her—and me—down while trying to convince her that she hadn’t accidentally broken her best friend.

After convincing her, she had chewed me out for dropping my sword in the middle of a fight over a light shin smack while also praising me for how well I had done before that. All of this while closely clutching my leg and gushing apologies over the small bruise that had formed.

I think she still wasn’t convinced I was fine but had decided that it was because I was hungry and hadn’t eaten yet. Which was fine with me. It was much better than her realizing I had experienced a panic attack from a wooden sword because of a past life death.

Hence why I am in the kitchen being pampered. I was getting hungry anyway as my stomach had finally woken up at 7:30, even though the rest of me had been up and about before six. Letting the little tyrant sleep in had not stopped it from causing a throbbing ache as soon as it had woken up. It demanded that it should be filled! With pancakes!

I reach out for the plate of delicious pancakes slathered with sugary goodness. We’d had them yesterday for breakfast too, but I didn’t mind the repeat. You could never have enough pancakes!

My hand slithers across the granite table to grab the plate when it suddenly inches away from my reach. I sit up on my knees to reach a little further, but once again Mel pulls the plate away from me.

I look at her pointedly. She better have a good reason for keeping those away, or this might be justification for war.

“Sel, what do you say?”

“…please?”

She shows a conflicted look.

“…thank you?”

She slides the plate in front of me. I’m all ready to dig in when I realize I don’t have a fork. Glancing over at Mel who’d sat down beside me I see that she has a fork and a knife and is already eating her peanut butter pancakes with gusto. She seems to radiate an air of smugness and the corners of her lips keep twitching upward into a small smile before she forces them back down. Demon!

I grudgingly get up and head over to the silverware drawer. It opens with a clink. I reach for a fork before my eyes catch on the sharp cutting knives that are sitting beside the silverware container. My hand shakes a little as I pick up a fork and grab a butter knife and close the drawer softly.

I climb back into the chair and finally get to eating my pancakes. My earlier enthusiasm dulled by the fact that my trauma isn’t a one-time thing. I morosely ponder whether there are any other traumas I haven’t figured out yet while shoving delicious pancakes into my mouth.

“Hey Sel, you need to cheer up. You did really well out there! Your form still sucked, and your footwork was… not that great. But you still did a lot better than usual…because, um I’m not actually sure how you were doing better, but you definitely were! And that’s all that matters anyway!”

Mel gives me a smile and rubs my back. I give her a small smile back. I can’t mope around forever, especially not with Mel around.

“I’m fine. I’m just sad that I’ll have to leave soon. We still have school on Monday and my dad wants me home.”

Mel gives me a sad look.

“You could stay here? It’s only Saturday and we’re a lot closer to the school so you wouldn’t have to take the bus! Mom likes having you over too! I heard her talking to Dad about it and they were talking about how you could stay over as long as you want because your dad…” she trails off, realizing she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“Thank you for offering but my dad wants me home as soon as possible today,” I respond swiftly, cutting her off before she can say more. “Besides, you will be at swordsmanship club all day so it’s not like we could hang out anyway.”

Her lip sticks out in a pout and she collapses on the table in much the manner I was earlier. It looks childish and—Oh no, is that how I looked!?

I try and ignore that last thought by idly noting that she has cleaned off her plate at some point while I was morosely eating my pancakes. Good thing too, as her head would likely have become quite the syrupy mess if she hadn’t.

Her head turns sideways and peeks up at me. The sideways eyes giving me a hopeful look.

“You could join the class you know? Even before today’s practice, you have always been decent at swordplay. I’m a pretty harsh taskmaster, and I like to critique you, but the truth is you have some talent for it! We could spend all of Saturday, Tuesday, and Thursday together after school! It would be so much fun having my best friend there! I bet your dad will let you join too if you frame it right.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is not the first time Mel has tried to recruit me for her swordsmanship club and it probably won’t be the last.

“I just don’t think I would do well.”

“Why? You always say that, but I don’t think that’s true at all! What makes you think you wouldn’t do well in it? You literally go to a military training class with kids almost twice your age! Why is swordsmanship harder than that!?”

I hesitate. I do want to join. I want to spend more time with Mel and have fun with people my age, but I’m sick of being the weakest in the group. Sure, I’m in a military training class, but all of the lessons I suck at! I can’t grapple with someone twice my weight! I can’t shoot a pistol without the recoil hurting my wrists. I can’t clamber up the climbing wall when I can’t reach half of the handholds! Most of the kids in there are older teens and adults! I’m the only one under the age of sixteen, and result wise it really shows.

“I—I don’t think someone as small and weak as me could do anything but drag you down Mel. I’d just get beat up every day and cause you problems.” I can’t look at Mel as I say this. It feels so cringy, I don’t want to see her piteous look or even worse scorn.

There is a brief pause in the room. Why isn’t Mel saying anything? Did she realize that it would be too bothersome to have me in her class? Does she think that I’m complaining too much? Or that I’m a troublesome friend to have? I want to look at what expression she is making, but my head feels heavy and I can’t seem to shift my view from the ground. I hear Mel shift in her chair. I hold my breath waiting to be berated.

“Hey Sel.” I manage to drag my view away from the floor to look over at Mel. She’s sat up and is giving me a look that I can’t quite place. She continues. “You’re an idiot. Is that the only reason you wouldn’t join? All these years of asking you to join and it was all because you thought you were small?”

I feel my face flush. Mel’s red eyebrows are pinched together, and her mouth is scrunched up like she’s bitten into something sour. I open my mouth to respond as my vision gets a little blurry, my head feels the pull of gravity again and starts to look towards the floor.

Mel reaches out grabbing both my shoulders and shakes me.

“SELLLL! I can’t believe you! I’ve been trying to get you to join for years and I always thought it was because you didn’t want to join! I figured the whole “I don’t think I’d do well.” was just an excuse you made up because you didn’t want to join!”

When she finally stops shaking me enough for me to get a word out, I stutter,

“B-but it’s true? I am really small for my age, and w-whenever we practice hand to hand in my class, I always get beat up…” I trail off miserably.

Mel stops shaking me but still has that frustrated look on her face, after looking me over she gives a big sigh and lets go of my shoulders.

“Sel, a sword is a force multiplier. It makes it so that I can hit harder and faster than I can with my bare hands. In swordsmanship, strength does not matter nearly as much as people think. If you are moderately skilled there are only three cases where strength is important.”

She raises up three fingers and continues.

“One. Strength is speed. If you are stronger, you’ll be able to swing your weapon faster. People tend to think that strength and speed are different, and they are, but they do influence each other quite a bit. A person who is stronger will be able to swing their weapon with greater speed than someone who is weaker.”

She lowers a finger leaving two sticking up, like a rabbit’s ears.

“Two, is hard blocks. If you must stop a hit directly it’s important to have a little strength or your weapon will be pushed into you when you block. A good swordsman won’t deal with this too much because most of the time you’ll use directional blocks instead of hard, but sometimes you can’t avoid a hard block. In that case, you have to use your footing and strength to take the blow.”

Another finger falls, leaving her pointer one standing proudly.

“Three, is grappling. Sometimes a bigger opponent will try and get close and smother you. If that happens then strength is going to matter a lot more.”

She is about to say something when she pauses and adds one more thing.

“Ah, actually if someone is very heavily armored then it can matter too, but I’d kinda link that in with grappling because if someone’s in full plate mail then you have to get a little creative and…” she trails off as she sees a dazed look appear on my face.

*cough* “Ah, never mind. It’s not important right now. The main point is that once you get good enough at a martial art, the skill between two opponents will start to matter more than sheer strength. I beat opponents twice my size all the time, and with a little practice you can too!”

She punctuates that last remark by poking me in the nose with her pointer finger. Hey!

Getting out of poking range, I gave her an uncertain look. I don’t really get all of her explanation, but it does sound like swordsmanship wouldn’t be the “Beat on Selina” event I was picturing. Perhaps my grappling class had jaded me towards other martial arts. Maybe I should join?

The small burst of happiness in my chest startles me. It surprises me to realize that I do want to join. Maybe yesterday I would have jumped at the chance. Spending more time away from home and more time with Mel should have been a no brainer. There was only one little, tiny problem.

I seem to have a new trauma associated with swords and other objects sharper than a butter knife. I’m hesitant to join a community that exclusively uses these items against each other in a violent manner.

Once again, I am saved from deciding what to tell Mel when Mel’s Mom walks into the kitchen. Her eyes are squinting at us and she is wrapped up in a blue bathrobe. I hastily straighten my back and place my hands in my lap.

“Good morning girls. *Yawn* Did you sleep well.”

“Morning mom.”

“Ah, yes we-I did. Um, I’m sorry if we woke you up, ma’am. I apologize for the noise we made.”

She gives us a smile. Before heading over to the tray of leftover pancakes Mel left out.

“It’s fine. You weren’t making too much noise before this little troublemaker started making a ruckus.” She gives Mel a playful smile. “But it's fine, I had to be up and about soon anyway.”

*Bwrrrrrrrrr*

The microwave starts as Mel’s mom leans against the back counter and yawns again.

“Selina, I know Mel really wants you to join her swordsmanship class, but you don’t need to feel obligated to. Mel’s been handling the class by herself for four years now and it hasn’t stopped her yet. Don’t let her pressure you into it if you don’t want to go.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Mel leans over and whispers

“You don’t need to be so formal Sel. It’s just my mom.”

I squirm uncomfortably and glance up between the two. Mel’s giving me an exasperated look and Mel’s mom is looking at us with amusement. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at the attention.

Soon after Mikey, Mel’s eight-year-old brother, stumbles into the room looking confused before lurching over to the pancakes and grabbing one off the plate. Me and Mel have both finished so we head out to pack Mel’s equipment for her club practice.

Stuffing the headgear, pads, and all the other special clothing into the bag I cannot help but ponder what it would be like to try all of this on and have a real spar. Me and Mel wear safety glasses but don’t really go at each other hard enough to get all suited up. I imagine that instead of helping Mel pack up, I’m instead packing up all of my stuff. Getting ready to go out and smack some people alongside Mel with my wooden sword. The thought makes me feel warm inside and I feel a strange longing at the image.

Mel slings the bag over her shoulder and then hands me a wooden sword. I look at it confused. Does she want me to carry this? Wait, isn’t this my ‘blade’? I look up to see Mel giving me a big grin.

“Keep it. You can do some warmup drills and think about whether you want to join or not.”

“I can’t take this! I don’t even know if I’ll join or not! And how will I warm up with you if I take it!” I try and give it back, but she dodges keeping the bag in between us, as I attempt to push it back into her hand. I finally give up as I give her a stern glare. “Demon!”

“Little devil!” she retorts back.

“Loudmouth!”

“Dork!”

“Carrot head!”

“Skinny stick!”

“Shorty!”

My last retort makes us both bust up laughing. Mel pulls me into a side hug.

“Please consider joining? It would be so much fun with you there.”

I give her a small grin. “I’ll think about it.” I hug the sword close. I’m still not sure, but maybe I’ll try it out.

The back door opens and Mel’s mom’s head peaks out.

“Mel! Are you ready? It’s almost eight o’clock!”

“Yeah. All ready to go.”

“Selina do you need a ride home? I know it’s a little far, but I would be happy to give you a ride.”

“Ah, it’s fine. You can just drop me off at the bus stop ma’a—” What’s less formal than Ma’am? Mrs. Quinton, perhaps? “Mrs. Quinton.” Mel sighs beside me. What did I do wrong?

After dropping Mel off at her class, Mrs. Quinton begrudgingly brought me to the nearest bus stop. It had taken quite the effort to persuade her that I was fine taking the bus and she didn’t need to worry about me as I did this all the time. She did not seem to take that last part well and had grumbled some unintelligible things under her breath before reluctantly leaving.

As I sit on the uncomfortable metal bench, my backpack, and sleeping bag at my side, I realize this was the first time I’d had a moment to myself since I’d remembered my past life. You’d think that remembering I was the Demon Lord, a monster that was used to scare children and was featured in multiple horror films—Mel had made me watch them—would change things up a little. However, that wasn’t really the case. Rather than actually changing anything, I’d hardly had the time to give it a thought as life—or to put it more bluntly, Mel—just kept pushing me along as if nothing had changed at all.

Maybe this would be a good chance to sort through those memories and figure some things out.

I try to think of the earliest memory of my spider self. It’s kind of hard, there are a lot of memories and trying to decide which is the earliest is difficult. I find one that I think is earlier than most of the others and concentrate on it.

There was a web. It was a very good web. I was waiting. Waiting. Waiting. A breeze brushes the web and I tense, but it was not food. I wait some more. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. A vibration! I rush forward. The food was caught! I grab it wrapping it further in my web stuff! I bite into it and suck the juices—

I gag. Did I really eat a fly! That’s disgusting! Not to mention that the memory was so utterly boring! I’d just been waiting there all day for the chance to eat a bug! I hadn’t even been bored by it! My feelings were so small and my thought process so muddled that it was kind of sickening just thinking back on it! Had I really been that stupid?

I freeze at the thought. I try to think of some of the later memories I have. It is difficult. My mind is quickly enveloped in a large headache as I try to process the memories. There are ideas I don’t understand that I had once grasped with ease. My mind tries to grasp the concepts, but I might as well be grabbing air. I can’t make heads or tails of them.

Am I actually stupid? Just like how I think the old “fly eating spider” in my memories is stupid, would the me before I died think I was stupid? I start breathing harder. I am okay not having my spider body—from my current perspective, I think I look a lot better than I did as a spider—but being dumber felt different than having a different body. I feel a cold knot of panic settle in my gut.

*Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee chuuu*

I didn’t notice with my thoughts all wound up, but the bus had arrived while I was contemplating just how stupid I actually was. The old beat-up blue bus is quite the sight. The paint is chipped and fading and whatever picture or logo once adorned it is long gone. The door slowly opens with a creak. The old, cracked door not quite sitting straight in its open position.

I scramble off the park bench grabbing my things and scurrying towards the entrance. Scrambling up to the door I see the familiar figure of the bus driver giving me a tired glance. After a quiet grunt, he seems to lose interest and turns back to adjusting the radio that is blaring out some rock song I am unfamiliar with.

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

Mr. Hendricks gives a grunt as he continues to fiddle with the radio. I am not sure what he is doing with it though, as the volume and channel aren’t really changing. I continue to the back of the bus and sit down. This was the beginning of Mr. Hendricks's bus route, so I currently have the whole bus to myself. Since I leave near the end of the route, I like to sit in the back where people don’t shuffle in and out as much.

When I first started taking this bus route, I imagined I was a spy sitting at the back of the bus watching the people get on and off looking for a suspect. After a few iterations of that, I’d imagined I was the suspect, skulking in the corner trying not to draw attention.

More recently though I have just been bored. There are only so many imagining you can do on a two-hour bus ride before doing the same thing gets kind of old.

Collapsing down in my seat I try to resume my thoughts as the thumping from the motor vibrates my seat. I have trouble coming up with anything productive. My mind keeps coming full circle to the same puzzle. I was really stupid when I was a little spider, smarter when I was a bigger spider and now, I wasn’t a spider, but a human and smarter and less smart than my spider self? My head hurts trying to keep track of it all.

Scrambling around in my backpack I shuffle through the notebooks I keep for class. Grabbing my history one—since it is the emptiest—I flip to a blank page. I reach into my backpack for a pen or pencil. I am worried that I only brought my notebook to Mel’s house and I’ll be stuck with only a blank sheet of paper when I find a pencil buried at the very bottom. It’s dull, which is annoying, but it will serve for what I need.

I put the pen to paper and write “Spider Memories” at the top of the sheet. I wince at the handwriting. My handwriting is usually pretty neat, but being on a bumpy bus and using a dull pencil… I decide to ignore it. It isn’t crucial for what I am trying to do.

Looking at the title, I’m not really sure where to go from here. I stare down at the blank piece of paper hoping that maybe it knows what I should write. Hmmm, no luck. I’d hoped that putting pen to paper would give me an idea of where to start but my mind is swirling with too many thoughts.

The bus hits a bump sending me a couple of inches into the air before coming down with a crash. I can’t quite stop the startled noise that comes from my mouth at the surprise ejection.

“Eeep!”

This was ridiculous! Just write something down moron!

I quickly scratch out two lists under the title and underline them. This would be where I started.

Spider Memories

Pros: Cons:

Quickly looking down at the two options I start jotting down the Cons first. I like to save the best for last.

Cons: Traumas So far, the only one I’ve figured out is swords and sharp things Others? If anyone finds out I’m the Demon Lord they might try to kill me Bugs! I get a headache thinking about my later spider memories Eight eyes? Legs? Think differently? …dumber? I might be evil? BUGS!

Looking down at the list I feel like there are some obvious ones I’m forgetting, but I feel like this is a pretty good start for the problems these new memories will bring. Even though it isn’t complete, I want to move on to the pros before I get sucked into a bottomless pit of negativity.

The bus stops and some other people get on. I tense, struck by the irrational fear that they would come to the back and sit next to me, despite the many seats still available. I relax when I realize that the nearest people are two teens sitting two seats in front of me.

It is still a little too close, but I can live with it.

Turning back to my list I try to come up with some items to put under the Pros section.

Pros: Might let me become a cool ninja warrior? (Did better with the fight with Mel this morning) Become a master of braiding hair! (Sewing too?) Help me improve my history grade? If I lived through the events, I should improve a little, right? …probably shouldn’t get my hopes up Learn magic and get really cool superpowers?

Hmm, there are some pretty interesting things on the Pros side. It is a little disappointing that almost all of them end with a question mark, but considering I’d had the memories for less than half a day I figure it isn’t too big of an issue right now.

The coolest is definitely the last one. Only talented nobles learn magic nowadays but Mel and I hadn’t known that when we were kids. In school, we were taught that after the Demon Lord (aka Me) was defeated the mana in the air had kind of dried up or something. Without sufficient mana density, it became almost impossible to train magic. Hence why only the rich and powerful could afford to learn it.

It had broken me and Mel’s heart when we had learned the truth in class. The dreams and hopes of our little elementary school hearts of shooting fireballs and flying through the sky were mercilessly crushed by reality. We’d still tried anyway. Mel and I had got together in secret meetings and meditated to try and feel the mana in the air. Using special breathing techniques we found on sketchy online forums we would sit for a time trying to will our homework to explode.

We had never succeeded, but that hadn’t stopped us from using it as an excuse for when it came time to turn it in.

As we hit middle school, we’d kind of given up on it. Mel had started to pick up sword fighting and I’d had… family obligations.

Now though, the silly old dream of an eight-year-old kid was being rekindled. I remember whispering to the shadows and hearing them whisper back. I remember soaring through the sky, the wind to my beck and call. I remember telling gravity “jump”, and its response was “how high”. I remember performing magic.

I’d tried a couple of times last night to do a little magic, but, so far, I had yet to actually produce any results. However, I am sure that somewhere in that stupid spider head of mine there is the beginning steps to learning magic. I just have a couple hundred years of prior practice to sort through before I find it. Easy.

Leaning back in my chair with a sigh, I close my eyes and try to clear my head. Taking deep breaths and just trying to relax I feel the agitation quiet down inside me. Writing everything down didn’t really change much, but it did put some things in perspective. I didn’t really know much about my past self yet, until I knew more it was pointless worrying over things I couldn’t change.

I open my eyes feeling a sense of serenity with—Ew! Gross!

The couple two seats in front of me are eating each other’s faces! Not literally, of course. They’re just kissing, but really? This is a public bus! That’s disgusting!

I shudder. Why would you ever want to put your lips on someone else’s! If someone told you to drink a cup of saliva would you do it? Of course not! But as soon as that saliva is on someone else’s lips…

Gross. Gross. Gross. I really don’t understand it. Some of my classmates are falling prey to this ‘kissing sickness’ and it's frankly disgusting.

But is it worse than eating a bug?

Hmm, some really nice weather we’re having. Yep. Just a little overcast but perfect for a pale little girl like me to avoid turning a little crispy at the edges. Fine, fine weather indeed.

The bus ride continues as I try to find the serenity that was so rudely taken from me. The bus stops, then goes, people entering and exiting. At one point the bus is crowded enough that a big fat lady sits next to me. My backpack sword and sleeping bag are shoved under my feet as I’m entombed in my seat.

She smells funny and as she sits, she seems to slosh off of her seat taking up half of mine as I compress myself into the corner to avoid touching her. I pray she will get off soon as the minutes seem to stretch by with her presence. She begins to snore. This is looking to be a very uncomfortable ride.