Few cannabis farmers haven’t had the joy of spider mites – and regretted the experience. My friend Joe thought to expand on that a little…

Morning comes to a world, a morning which goes unnoticed by generations as they bask under the blaze that mercilessly fills the sky – they are forced to cling to the leaf’s shaded underside. This morning brings a vision of harsh life that is plagued by horror so profound that if recreated on a larger scale would surely reduce the stoutest man to mewling fear. The very ground, which heaves in twists with unimaginable violence in a never ending hurricane wind, is pocked by thousands of milky white, opaque egg sacs which wriggle with anticipation of their imminent release. Chewing their way out of their confinement, these newborns at once scurry at immense speed along the ground, puncturing it with their mandibles and greedily sucking up the plant juice which sustains them. As they forage wider and wider they clamber over the unborn and the dead and the dying in a never ending search for sustenance.

The world is harsh and competitive enough without the existence of immense and destructive gods, many billions of times the size of their humble subjects, who have no other pleasure than to devise hideous new methods of extermination. Entire clutches of eggs and the adults would disappear, the very ground they inhabited excised by the mysterious deities. Apparently the disappearance of entire populations, as horrible and unexplained as it was, was not cruel enough to entertain the gods and they conjured up other plagues. Oily, sweet smelling liquid death came from above and below forcing the millions of hideous creatures to flee, ignoring those trapped in a sweet smelling liquid which drowned their very bodies. Without warning the suns would blink out of existence, cold settling in and noxious fumes would permeate every available molecule of air, the flesh of the eggs and the adults turn to dust.

There were those who survived, to clamber out of their congenital prisons and scuttle forth, with scores of suffocating larvae underfoot, trapped by the film of liquid. Those that survived matured faster and grew stronger, they found that they could stand in poisonous yellow clouds and the gale force of deadly sweet smelling mists. They orgy over the desiccating corpses of the weak where they had fallen in place, ignoring the gods attempts at extermination, feasting and coupling and rolling over the living and dead surrounded by noxious clouds. All at once the revelry is disturbed by a new threat surely visited on them by their violent deities, cast down upon the scenes of macabre hedonism; immense predators of black and red rain down from the sky and at once set upon the living. As strong as they have become, they still flee in front of the Goliath hunters who were very much like themselves in their insatiable quest for reproduction and sustenance, only they sustain themselves on the flesh of the minuscule inhabitants. A holocaust begins and all are consumed, the eggs are especially targeted as they cannot move. The hunt lasts for generations until finally the destroyers themselves perish, leaving behind a wasteland of dried husks of flesh, spilling out tangles of silk that blow across the ground and wrap everything in a fine shroud.

A single egg remains blissfully unaware of the fate of all who came before, tucked into a small crevice, and blisters out of its sac, beginning the life cycle again as she can reproduce without sex, creating males in enormous clutches, one of whom will surely find one of the other surviving females and create a new the hellish, crawling landscape. The gods continue in their wrath and every inch of organic matter is removed and the suns blink out for uncountable generations.

Postscript

After battling spider mites for a while, I began to realize their amazing tenacity and the adverse conditions that had created them. To visualize their world up close was to visualize hell itself, and I just wanted to explore that concept a little.

-Joe

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