My earlier assumptions on the benign nature of my cell mates may have been made in error. After a careful autopsy, I am concerned that there may be a small volume of natural chemicals stored in the stomach which, if ingested regularly over a period of time, may become psychotropic, or even lethal. My only real chance is to break out of here and raid any stashes of supplies I can find. However, the evidence against such a move is insurmountable:
1. I have no source of light
2. I swore to myself I wouldn't leave until I heard human voices outside
3. The spiders are so tasty
From the marks I have been making on the walls, and my scribbled diary entries -which, in the dark, may amount to an illegible scrawl - today is the hundredth day of my new life.
Over the past month, my edible friends have become more and more aggressive, and have swelled in number and size. Whether or not this is a result of my plundering their ecosystem, I am unsure, however, at this rate of growth they will soon be too large to crawl through the gaps in the walls. For all I know I could only be seeing the tip of the iceberg.
If all fails, and I am never recovered, I hope at least that my study of, and, indeed, involvement with, these fascinating creatures, will one day be regarded as an important point in natural history. The greatest names in modern science got there more through fluke than talent, and it appears that this rule has extended itself to my discovery of this delicious new species.
I only pray that the second rule deems my breakthrough too insignificant: for all great discoveries tend to consume their inventor.