I remembered when the soldiers stripped me from my home three months ago when I harvested the first ripe Malvao pod of the season. The fragile fruit full of purple dye resembled a much larger, delicate version of a grape. Picking a Malvao was like pulling a toxic water balloon without bursting it. It took talent. So focused I was in harvesting the first pod that the officer was already under the ladder, yelling. He cursed, upset that I hadn’t come down when called but relieved I was finally listening. I managed to slip it into my pouch and he ordered me from five feet away at all times. I wasn’t contagious but that’s how I avoided a beating. Malvaos were not common knowledge and it stayed that way.

By now, the pod had shriveled just like my confidence.

A trickle of sweat ran down my temple as I bashed the pod onto the lock, denting the raisin-like skin. A second bash punctured the husk and I tore it open a little more. My hands trembled as I shook the pod, trying to get the gooey center to pop free. Come on, come on... A wad of what looked like dark-purple chewing gum rolled out onto my palm. I stuck it to the lock.

Only seconds remained before the guards reached me. Help! Work already!

Nothing happened. Dammit! Too dry. What about saliva?

I tried to gather up moisture in my sandpaper mouth, but it'd been yesterday since I'd had anything to drink. Spitting was out of the question. What else? There’s gotta be something! My heart beat a frantic pulse through my ears, faster than the footfalls of the guards. Another trickle of sweat dripped from my brow to my eyelashes.

Wait. Sweat. Yes!

Ignoring the angry shouts of the guards pounding close, I swiped a finger across my forehead and spread it over the thick goo.

Come on already!

The door creaked, and the gust of old stale air sent shivers across my skin.

I ran in and shut the door, pushing some adjacent wooden crates behind the door. For good measure, I sat in front of the cartons for added resistance.

That was when I saw my worst nightmare, a large spider. When I was little, I was minding my own business sweeping the floor when I saw a spider. I smacked down hard with my broom and out popped millions of baby spiders! My legs trembled involuntarily, shaking off phantom baby creepy crawlies that climbed my bare legs. The spider-mom had her last revenge on me.

Imagine if this cat-sized, pitch-black spider in this shed, my new, sealed prison, were to burst into infinitesimal spiders! I shuddered again at the thought. I fought to keep my fears from wrenching at my heart. Fortunately for me, the giant spider had been busy wrapping its meal, holding it with two legs and rotating it fast with the other six.

Oh no. Wait a second. Was that…? I looked carefully at the cocoon. The bulge being wrapped up looked familiar. Peeking out from the bottom, only partially wrapped, twitched the head of that big white moth. Possibly unconscious. Or dead.