The Unfortunate Fate of Steve, the Slab Spider

My eight little eyes could barely believe what I was seeing. For generations, my family had known the comforting coolness and relative safety of this particular crack under this specific slab. It wasn't glamorous, mind you. The rent was free, the crumbs were sporadic (though that ant colony next door was a reliable buffet), and the vibrations from the giants stomping above were a constant low rumble. But it was home. Our home.

I’m not a large fellow, as far as spiders go. A respectable size for catching the occasional unsuspecting fly, but nothing intimidating. So when the ground started… shifting… a while back, and those booming voices started talking about “voids” and “leveling,” I didn’t panic too much. Surely, whatever they were doing wouldn’t affect me. I was small, practically invisible! I’d just huddle deeper in my little corner, maybe reinforce my web with a bit more silk, and they’d never even know I was here.

Then came the sign. A tiny, white rectangle planted right near the edge of our slab. "Free Estimate - Woods Basement Systems." A shiver, the kind that makes all my little hairs stand on end, went through me. I’d overheard the bigger creatures talking about Woods before. Whispers of perfectly smooth patios and walkways that were “finally fixed.” Fixed for them, maybe. Disaster for us smaller folk.

A few days later, a giant in a bright polo shirt was poking around our slab with some shiny contraption. He kept muttering numbers and pointing. My heart (all those little pumping organs) pounded. Surely he couldn't see my carefully constructed web, the delicate dewdrop I was saving for breakfast?

The final blow came this morning. More giants. Loud machines that whirred and spat some sort of… expanding foam? I could feel the slab vibrating, the crack I called home shrinking, the familiar earthy scent replaced by something chemical and unpleasant. My escape routes were closing.

Clutching a discarded ant carcass – my last decent meal, probably – I can’t help but feel a surge of eight-legged indignation. Didn't they realize there was a whole community down here? Didn't my countless hours spent meticulously crafting my web count for anything? It seems not. Just like that raccoon I saw scuttling away looking utterly defeated the other day, I’m homeless. Thanks to these… PolyLevel pests. Where’s a little spider supposed to go now? The world outside this perfectly leveled slab looks vast and terrifying. Maybe I’ll try that hollow log the raccoon was eyeing. Misery, it seems, loves company.