It's only right...

That when a fighter dies there should be a suitable ceremony to commemorate the passing...

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This morning I awoke with a bruise on my chest and a large bump on the back of my head due to my fight to the death with my arachnid adversary early yesterday morning. I dragged myself out of my bed, walked to the kitchen, opened the deepfreeze and grabbed a bag of frozen chicken nuggets to put on my head in an attempt to reduce any swelling.

I walked through to the livingroom and surveyed the scene before me. My copy of Mein Kampf lay on the floor where it had trapped my nemesis' leg, marbles were strewn across the floor, the deodorant can lay forlorn under the table where it had skidded to a halt, the ironing board lay next to my skateboard like postmodern art, the iron itself lay upside down next to a stain caused by the water from it having poured out and items of detritus that had cascaded out of my flowerpot lay next to the bookshelf.

I knew there was one more thing I had still to look at. The corpse of the brave warrior who had fought so bravely the night before.

I glanced upwards and saw six hairy legs hanging limp and flaccid. It's body, pinned to the ceiling, was merely an empty shell now. The life force that fought with such ferocity and vehemence was gone to fight another battle in a place not known to me.

As a mark of respect to a fallen soldier I walked through to my bedroom and pulled on the closest thing I could find to a military uniform. Minutes later I was back in the livingroom wearing my M*A*S*H 4077th t-shirt, a pair of camouflage shorts and my German Army issue boots. As a final touch I reached up to the top of the bookshelf and pulled down my Kevlar helmet and put it on.

I walked to where I had thrown the stool only a few hours earlier, picked it up and placed it beneath the spiders corpse. Then I walked over to my desk and picked up a small plastic ziplock bag.

Standing on the stool, I reached up and got a hold of the dart that I had used to dispatch the spider and pulled. To my surprise I noticed that the tip of the dart had buried itself into the plaster of the ceiling to a depth of about half an inch. I must have thrown it with quite a lot of force considering I was prone on the floor at the time.

I opened the ziplock bag and placed the body of the spider into it. Then I stepped off the stool and walked over to where the copy of Mein Kampf lay pinning the leg of the spider to the ground. I lifted the book and lifted the hairy leg and placed it inside the ziplock bag with the rest of the spider.

Next on the agenda was to find some kind of receptacle for the spider to be interned in. I looked around the livingroom and spotted a wooden box I had bought while on holiday in Africa, picked it up and placed the spider inside it. I then tidied up the mess from our battle royal.

Having straightened out the mess I stuffed my catapult into my pocket, alongside all the marbles I could find, grabbed my portable stereo and went into the back garden. I walked to the end of the garden and found a suitable spot to bury my noble foe, dropped to my knees and began digging at the earth with my bare hands.

I dug a hole about six inches deep and placed the box into it. I covered the box with earth and stood up to attempt to say a few words in memory of a brave fighter who gave its life. As I stood looking down at the fresh grave I realised that I couldn't speak. Words that should have come so easily failed to materialize so I gave up and merely saluted.

I pulled my catapult out of my pocket and fired a volley of marbles into the air as a mark of respect as Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley played at full volume on the stereo.

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It takes a brave man to admit to having emotions but I am not ashamed to say I wept as I thought of the brave fight that the spider had put up. When I thought of the spiders family somewhere wondering why it hadn't returned home I dropped to my knees and screamed at the sky...

"WHY?"