Chapter 19
Needless to say, the party ended after that. The rest of the night was a blur of hysterics, flashing lights and questions. I was pretty drunk and exhausted, both physically and emotionally, so I wasn’t really coherent for most of it. I don’t even remember going to bed.
At some point I must have actually fallen asleep, because I had a dream. I’m lying in my bed facing the door. It slowly opens and then my best friend steps into the doorway with a smirk on his face as he leans to his right against the frame and crosses his arms. Then this girl with blonde hair comes up behind him and puts her right hand on his right shoulder and her left hand around him on his stomach. He’s pretty tall, so his left shoulder is blocking most of her face so I can only see above her nose. That was enough though; her eyes captivated me. They were kind yet at the same time, aggressive. They were giving, yet selfish. Honest yet deceitful, comforting yet deviant. I could tell by her eyes that she was smiling. My attention gets drawn back to my best friend as he moves to pick something up off of my desk and holds it up for me to see. It is one of my favorite vampire books. He and the girl look at each other for a moment, then they both look back at me. He tosses the book towards me and it lands on the floor, right beside my bed.
When the book hits the floor, I wake up. As the dream wears off, the memory of what happened that night sinks back in and the reality of it hits me hard. I begin to sob and I don’t stop until I fall asleep. Maybe I didn’t even stop then.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Chapter 18
Chapter 18
I decided to throw a party. Not that I felt like celebrating or anything, but it was time. There had been a lot of sadness, so it was time for some fun. I guess it was also for my friends. They had been there for me, and we hadn’t had one since before. I guess I also wanted to have a party to prove to everyone that I was ok. Everyone was really worried about me and at the time, I didn’t pay much attention. I wanted to show them that even though I wasn’t “back to the way I was”, I was at least “moving forward”.
In order to get in the spirit of the party, I started drinking…straight vodka…from the bottle. Ok, I admit, it was actually more “drink ‘til I don’t feel feelings”, than “let’s party”, but hey, cut me some slack.
When people would show up, they would try their best to act normal around me, which I did appreciate, so I returned the favor by changing the subject to something less serious whenever they asked “how I was doing”. Was I avoiding the issue? Maybe, but it was a party and I wanted everyone to have a good time. After a while, I tried to stay in the background so people could just let loose and have a good time. I still had my trusty bottle of Point Judith Vodka though. At the time I didn’t realize how it was gradually bringing me down. It wasn’t making me super depressed or anything, just alienated. I was looking around at all the people having fun and wondering why I couldn’t have fun. Then my best friend found me.
“Hey, there you are! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
“Oh I’m just takin’ a breather.” I say straightening up so he won’t be concerned about me. “What’s up?”
“First off, don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?”
“I’m just nursing it don’t worry, it wasn’t full when I started.”
“All right,” he says, not quite convinced, but not wanting to be pushy. “The other thing is that I think you should come dance.”
“Oh really?”
“Look, I know you obviously didn’t throw this party to celebrate, and no one here expects you to put on a show, or even lie and tell them that you’re ok. I mean it is a little weird, throwing a party this soon after, but what were we going to do, not show up?”
“So what, you’re all here out of pity?”
“No, not pity. Out of support. We all feel like, if this is what you want, if this will make you feel better, we’re here for you. At the same time, we don’t want you to feel neglected, like we’re just here for the party. We want you to have fun with us. For your sake.”
I crack a little smile at the sentiment and fight back some tears. “That’s… I really appreciate that, I do, I just don’t feel much like dancing. I am enjoying myself though, I mean as much as I can. Right now I’m just content watching everyone have a good time.”
“Well, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, because Tim Girard does what Tim Girard wants, but if you do need anything, let me know.”
“Actually there is one thing…”
“Name it.”
“Well, as you know, it is tradition that I do a strip tease at these parties, and since I’m out of commission, someone has to do it. I don’t want them to be disappointed. To some of them, I’m sure it’s the highlight of the night. Who knows, it might even get you laid.”
Now it’s his turn to crack a smile. “I will do this for you, but only because you’re my best friend.”
“And because it might get you laid. Hey, you don‘t have to do it only because I‘m asking you, you can do it because you want to. That’s the fun of selfishness. Feel free to use my room.”
“Hah, for someone who considers himself so selfish, you are pretty generous.”
“Selfishness is not about greed, it’s about making yourself happy. Right now, what would make me happy is for you to entertain my guests with a striptease, and then bang some chick as a result.”
“Well, if it’ll make you happy…”
I lift my bottle of vodka, as if to “cheers” him. He looks at the bottle and I can tell he is thinking of saying something about my drinking again, but decides against it. He knows that I’ll do what I want and that if I’m left to my own devices, I’ll turn out ok. That’s one of the reasons why he is my best friend.
His talk did help, but as I had said, I wasn’t ready for fun yet. Even my roommate came over and tried to make me laugh by shouting some gibberish in my face, followed by rubbing my head like a crystal ball. While I wasn’t in the mood to laugh out loud, it was funny and I gave him a smile to let him know the gesture was appreciated.
As the next song comes on, my best friend decides that it is “strip-worthy” and begins his routine. At first he seems a little uneasy and stiff, but soon the cheering starts and he loosens up and really starts to enjoy himself. As I’m watching, another smile creeps in and I feel, for lack of a better word, proud. The cheering has grown from the occasional shout to a constant swell. As he is taking his jeans off to reveal bright red boxer-shorts, one of the girls behind him slaps his ass. He turns around to face her in astonishment, pretends to scold her then continues removing his jeans. Once they are off, he proceeds to climb onto the couch and straddle one of the girls, at which point, the screaming reaches it’s peak.
Satisfied that I had done everything I could to make everyone have a good time, I decided to take a walk. Apparently it was imperative that I take a swig of vodka as I’m walking down the stairs and almost fell on my face. I managed to catch myself, but the bottle of vodka was not so lucky. It dropped to the driveway with a “thoompf”, fell on its side and then rolled under my car. This near catastrophe made me realize how drunk I actually was, and that it was a blessing in disguise that I lost the bottle. I straightened myself and staggered to the end of the driveway and turned left toward route 108, and beyond that, the ocean.
Now because I was drunkenly stumbling around outside at this point, I was not aware of what happened next. However, since then, the events that took place in my absence were…revealed to me, shall we say. Instead of telling the story out of order to be “artistic” as some directors do, I will include it now so it fits chronologically. Don’t worry, nothing bad happened to me on my walk. I didn’t walk out into traffic or drown in the ocean or anything. I just walked around the block a couple of times to clear my head. Yeah, boring, I know…that’s why I’m telling you this part of the story instead.
Immediately after I got to the end of my driveway and turned left, a blonde haired woman wearing a black dress comes down my street behind me, so I didn’t see her. She turns left into my driveway and walks slowly along the house to the back porch. She takes her time climbing the stairs, sliding her hand along the railing as she does. My best friend had just gone out to get some air after his big striptease and a few of his friends that he brought to the party came with him. They are laughing and rehashing what just went on inside, when the blonde haired woman, standing in the shadows, catches his eye.
“I was impressed with your moves,” she says to him.
“I didn’t see you in there. If I did, I would have given you special attention.”
She starts to walk toward him, but then goes to his left and behind him. He turns his head to the left, to follow her with his eyes.
“You may not have seen me, but I saw you...”
When his head can’t turn any more, he looks briefly forward, to give his friends an ‘Oh yeah’ nod, and turns his head the right to meet her on the other side. She stays behind him and peeks over his right shoulder showing only her blue eyes, but not the rest of her face.
“…and that’s all that matters.”
“Care to see more of my moves?” he asks.
Some time later, a girl opened my bedroom door. I don’t know if she was looking for me, and she thought I was in there, or if she was looking for her coat, or whatever. All I do know is that when I came back from my walk, the second I stepped through the kitchen door, I heard a blood curdling scream. In what seems like slow motion, I walk through the kitchen and as I do, someone kills the music. As I walk around the fridge, people are running from the living room and the back room into the hallway to see what is the matter. I push through them and see the girl leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door, covering her face and crying. When I get to the door and look in, the first things I see are my best friend’s eyes. They are lifeless. He is lying face-up on my floor, wearing nothing but his red boxers. His forearms are torn open lengthwise, with a pool of blood under each.
I turn around to go throw up in the bathroom, but before I get there, I see the ugly hallway carpet rushing up towards me as everything goes black.
I decided to throw a party. Not that I felt like celebrating or anything, but it was time. There had been a lot of sadness, so it was time for some fun. I guess it was also for my friends. They had been there for me, and we hadn’t had one since before. I guess I also wanted to have a party to prove to everyone that I was ok. Everyone was really worried about me and at the time, I didn’t pay much attention. I wanted to show them that even though I wasn’t “back to the way I was”, I was at least “moving forward”.
In order to get in the spirit of the party, I started drinking…straight vodka…from the bottle. Ok, I admit, it was actually more “drink ‘til I don’t feel feelings”, than “let’s party”, but hey, cut me some slack.
When people would show up, they would try their best to act normal around me, which I did appreciate, so I returned the favor by changing the subject to something less serious whenever they asked “how I was doing”. Was I avoiding the issue? Maybe, but it was a party and I wanted everyone to have a good time. After a while, I tried to stay in the background so people could just let loose and have a good time. I still had my trusty bottle of Point Judith Vodka though. At the time I didn’t realize how it was gradually bringing me down. It wasn’t making me super depressed or anything, just alienated. I was looking around at all the people having fun and wondering why I couldn’t have fun. Then my best friend found me.
“Hey, there you are! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.”
“Oh I’m just takin’ a breather.” I say straightening up so he won’t be concerned about me. “What’s up?”
“First off, don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?”
“I’m just nursing it don’t worry, it wasn’t full when I started.”
“All right,” he says, not quite convinced, but not wanting to be pushy. “The other thing is that I think you should come dance.”
“Oh really?”
“Look, I know you obviously didn’t throw this party to celebrate, and no one here expects you to put on a show, or even lie and tell them that you’re ok. I mean it is a little weird, throwing a party this soon after, but what were we going to do, not show up?”
“So what, you’re all here out of pity?”
“No, not pity. Out of support. We all feel like, if this is what you want, if this will make you feel better, we’re here for you. At the same time, we don’t want you to feel neglected, like we’re just here for the party. We want you to have fun with us. For your sake.”
I crack a little smile at the sentiment and fight back some tears. “That’s… I really appreciate that, I do, I just don’t feel much like dancing. I am enjoying myself though, I mean as much as I can. Right now I’m just content watching everyone have a good time.”
“Well, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, because Tim Girard does what Tim Girard wants, but if you do need anything, let me know.”
“Actually there is one thing…”
“Name it.”
“Well, as you know, it is tradition that I do a strip tease at these parties, and since I’m out of commission, someone has to do it. I don’t want them to be disappointed. To some of them, I’m sure it’s the highlight of the night. Who knows, it might even get you laid.”
Now it’s his turn to crack a smile. “I will do this for you, but only because you’re my best friend.”
“And because it might get you laid. Hey, you don‘t have to do it only because I‘m asking you, you can do it because you want to. That’s the fun of selfishness. Feel free to use my room.”
“Hah, for someone who considers himself so selfish, you are pretty generous.”
“Selfishness is not about greed, it’s about making yourself happy. Right now, what would make me happy is for you to entertain my guests with a striptease, and then bang some chick as a result.”
“Well, if it’ll make you happy…”
I lift my bottle of vodka, as if to “cheers” him. He looks at the bottle and I can tell he is thinking of saying something about my drinking again, but decides against it. He knows that I’ll do what I want and that if I’m left to my own devices, I’ll turn out ok. That’s one of the reasons why he is my best friend.
His talk did help, but as I had said, I wasn’t ready for fun yet. Even my roommate came over and tried to make me laugh by shouting some gibberish in my face, followed by rubbing my head like a crystal ball. While I wasn’t in the mood to laugh out loud, it was funny and I gave him a smile to let him know the gesture was appreciated.
As the next song comes on, my best friend decides that it is “strip-worthy” and begins his routine. At first he seems a little uneasy and stiff, but soon the cheering starts and he loosens up and really starts to enjoy himself. As I’m watching, another smile creeps in and I feel, for lack of a better word, proud. The cheering has grown from the occasional shout to a constant swell. As he is taking his jeans off to reveal bright red boxer-shorts, one of the girls behind him slaps his ass. He turns around to face her in astonishment, pretends to scold her then continues removing his jeans. Once they are off, he proceeds to climb onto the couch and straddle one of the girls, at which point, the screaming reaches it’s peak.
Satisfied that I had done everything I could to make everyone have a good time, I decided to take a walk. Apparently it was imperative that I take a swig of vodka as I’m walking down the stairs and almost fell on my face. I managed to catch myself, but the bottle of vodka was not so lucky. It dropped to the driveway with a “thoompf”, fell on its side and then rolled under my car. This near catastrophe made me realize how drunk I actually was, and that it was a blessing in disguise that I lost the bottle. I straightened myself and staggered to the end of the driveway and turned left toward route 108, and beyond that, the ocean.
Now because I was drunkenly stumbling around outside at this point, I was not aware of what happened next. However, since then, the events that took place in my absence were…revealed to me, shall we say. Instead of telling the story out of order to be “artistic” as some directors do, I will include it now so it fits chronologically. Don’t worry, nothing bad happened to me on my walk. I didn’t walk out into traffic or drown in the ocean or anything. I just walked around the block a couple of times to clear my head. Yeah, boring, I know…that’s why I’m telling you this part of the story instead.
Immediately after I got to the end of my driveway and turned left, a blonde haired woman wearing a black dress comes down my street behind me, so I didn’t see her. She turns left into my driveway and walks slowly along the house to the back porch. She takes her time climbing the stairs, sliding her hand along the railing as she does. My best friend had just gone out to get some air after his big striptease and a few of his friends that he brought to the party came with him. They are laughing and rehashing what just went on inside, when the blonde haired woman, standing in the shadows, catches his eye.
“I was impressed with your moves,” she says to him.
“I didn’t see you in there. If I did, I would have given you special attention.”
She starts to walk toward him, but then goes to his left and behind him. He turns his head to the left, to follow her with his eyes.
“You may not have seen me, but I saw you...”
When his head can’t turn any more, he looks briefly forward, to give his friends an ‘Oh yeah’ nod, and turns his head the right to meet her on the other side. She stays behind him and peeks over his right shoulder showing only her blue eyes, but not the rest of her face.
“…and that’s all that matters.”
“Care to see more of my moves?” he asks.
Some time later, a girl opened my bedroom door. I don’t know if she was looking for me, and she thought I was in there, or if she was looking for her coat, or whatever. All I do know is that when I came back from my walk, the second I stepped through the kitchen door, I heard a blood curdling scream. In what seems like slow motion, I walk through the kitchen and as I do, someone kills the music. As I walk around the fridge, people are running from the living room and the back room into the hallway to see what is the matter. I push through them and see the girl leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door, covering her face and crying. When I get to the door and look in, the first things I see are my best friend’s eyes. They are lifeless. He is lying face-up on my floor, wearing nothing but his red boxers. His forearms are torn open lengthwise, with a pool of blood under each.
I turn around to go throw up in the bathroom, but before I get there, I see the ugly hallway carpet rushing up towards me as everything goes black.
Friday, October 16, 2009
SPIDER-MAN: TEN SECONDS, ISSUE 4
Black.
As if from a distance, “Peter.”
Closer this time, “Peter.”
“Peter?”
Peter opens his eyes to find that he is chained up, lying on a couch, in his tattered Spider-Man costume, minus the mask, with Aunt May in a chair looking over him.
“Wha, Aunt May? Where am I? How did I get here? I still have my costume on!” He begins to struggle and is on the verge of tears.
“Ssshhh, Peter, relax.” She pets his hair. “We are in Matt Murdock’s office. Daredevil brought you here.”
“Why am I chained up?”
“I wanted to make sure you stayed put.”
“Oh my God! How long was I out? I have to go! People could be dying!” He struggles again, becoming hysterical.
“Peter. PETER! Listen to me!
He stops.
“Peter, it’s OK.”
He relaxes reluctantly.
“Peter, I already knew that you are Spider-Man. Do you really think that you could keep a secret that big from someone so close to you? Here have some water. Drink it slowly; I don’t want you to choke. I knew that you were going through one of your “Peter Parker no more” phases, but when you wouldn’t take my calls, I figured I would have to get a little more drastic. I went to see Matt Murdock and had Daredevil find you and bring you here, to me, so that I could have a talk with you. So, why don’t you tell me what all the fuss is about?”
“Aunt May, someone died because of me. If you know that I’m Spider-Man, you must realize that I take pictures of myself, using the timer on my camera. Well, about two weeks ago, I was doing just that. Someone was being mugged in an alley, so I stopped to set up my camera. It only took about ten seconds, but in that time, the mugger shot the muggee and took off. I took him to the hospital as fast as I could, but he still died soon after. If I hadn’t stopped to set up my camera to make some money, he would still be alive! It’s my fault he is dead.
And it’s my fault Uncle Ben is dead too. When I first became Spider-Man, I was only in it for myself. At one point, the police were chasing a criminal and he ran past me. They yelled for me to stop him, but I didn’t, because it wasn’t my job to. The man I let run by, was the man who killed Uncle Ben.” Peter starts crying.
“Ok Peter, let’s work backwards. First of all, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t do anybody any good if you are a mess. Second, in this world, the way it is, you need money to live. I understand how bad you feel about making a living indirectly from other people’s suffering and the good you do, but until the government decides to pay everyone for their good deeds, you have to make a living somehow. Third, you are in no way at fault for any of those who died, including Uncle Ben. The only ones at fault are the ones who pulled the trigger.”
“But..”
“But nothing! That is the truth, and you take that into your heart right now young man!”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ok, now part of why you came to those conclusions is because of your scientific mind. While your mind is amazing and capable of great things, it can also be your undoing, if you let your ego get the best of you. Your ego worked out a scenario, in perfect “post hoc, ergo propter hoc” fashion, which led you to the conclusion that YOU are responsible for those deaths.”
“Post hoc…? Where did you learn…?”
“Your dear old Aunt May is a lot smarter than you think. Anyway, you decided that it is up to YOU whether someone lives or dies. You gave yourself the Power and Responsibility of God. You know Peter; we never talked much about God when you were young, mostly because we didn’t need to. Religion is taught much of the time to make kids behave, and since you were such a good boy already, we didn’t feel the need to “put the fear of God” into you. Also, we knew that with your scientific mind, it wouldn’t be your language. You would want to prove whether or not God exists, but it doesn’t work that way. We figured that at some point you would come to terms with God in your own way. But right now, I feel that you need some perspective on God. Peter, why are you Spider-Man?”
“Because I was given this Power, and I have the Responsibility to..”
“Peter, you were also given the Power of that amazing scientific mind of yours. What about the Responsibility to use that?”
“…”
“We already know that a big part of why you are Spider-Man is out of guilt. Guilt because of what happened to Uncle Ben and how you thought it was your fault. But Peter, what do you enjoy about being Spider-Man?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hahaha, that fact that you don’t know what I mean is exactly the problem. Do you have fun cracking jokes, being sarcastic and embarrassing and punching out bad guys?”
“Yes.”
“Does it make you feel good to do what is right? To be the good guy?”
“Of course.”
“Do you feel amazing and free when you are swinging through the buildings of your city on your webs?”
Now with a smile, “Yes.”
“Peter, that is why God wants you to be Spider-Man. Not out of guilt or responsibility. Because you LOVE being Spider-Man. Because it is one of the things in this world that makes you the happiest. Because it is WHO YOU ARE. Peter, that is why Uncle Ben wants you to be Spider-Man, and it is why I want you to be Spider-Man.”
Peter weeps.
EPILOGUE
That weekend Peter calls aunt May. He is wearing his costume, minus the mask. (It is clean now.) She isn’t home so he leaves a message.
“Hi Aunt May, it’s Peter. I just want to thank you again for our little talk the other day; today is a brand new day for me. Oh, and I also wanted to let you know that I’ll be a little late to dinner tonight. I’m going to be out “doing what I love”, hehe. Ok, I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”
He pulls on his mask, leaps out the window and begins his patrol, swinging off into the sunset.
“Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig. Does whatever a Spider-Pig does. Can he swing from a thread? No he can’t, he’s a pig…”
At almost the same time, while Peter is leaving the message, Aunt May and J.J.J. Sr. are just walking in the door with a lot of luggage.
“Oh Jay, what a wonderful vacation that was! We will have to take two week cruises more often! It is good to be home, though. I hope Peter didn’t miss me too much. I think I heard him leaving a message as we were coming in.”
She hits the button and listens to his message.
“I wonder what talk he’s referring to? I am glad that whatever it was, he is doing what he loves! Well, if he’s planning on coming to dinner tonight, I guess I should get started making it.”
THE END
As if from a distance, “Peter.”
Closer this time, “Peter.”
“Peter?”
Peter opens his eyes to find that he is chained up, lying on a couch, in his tattered Spider-Man costume, minus the mask, with Aunt May in a chair looking over him.
“Wha, Aunt May? Where am I? How did I get here? I still have my costume on!” He begins to struggle and is on the verge of tears.
“Ssshhh, Peter, relax.” She pets his hair. “We are in Matt Murdock’s office. Daredevil brought you here.”
“Why am I chained up?”
“I wanted to make sure you stayed put.”
“Oh my God! How long was I out? I have to go! People could be dying!” He struggles again, becoming hysterical.
“Peter. PETER! Listen to me!
He stops.
“Peter, it’s OK.”
He relaxes reluctantly.
“Peter, I already knew that you are Spider-Man. Do you really think that you could keep a secret that big from someone so close to you? Here have some water. Drink it slowly; I don’t want you to choke. I knew that you were going through one of your “Peter Parker no more” phases, but when you wouldn’t take my calls, I figured I would have to get a little more drastic. I went to see Matt Murdock and had Daredevil find you and bring you here, to me, so that I could have a talk with you. So, why don’t you tell me what all the fuss is about?”
“Aunt May, someone died because of me. If you know that I’m Spider-Man, you must realize that I take pictures of myself, using the timer on my camera. Well, about two weeks ago, I was doing just that. Someone was being mugged in an alley, so I stopped to set up my camera. It only took about ten seconds, but in that time, the mugger shot the muggee and took off. I took him to the hospital as fast as I could, but he still died soon after. If I hadn’t stopped to set up my camera to make some money, he would still be alive! It’s my fault he is dead.
And it’s my fault Uncle Ben is dead too. When I first became Spider-Man, I was only in it for myself. At one point, the police were chasing a criminal and he ran past me. They yelled for me to stop him, but I didn’t, because it wasn’t my job to. The man I let run by, was the man who killed Uncle Ben.” Peter starts crying.
“Ok Peter, let’s work backwards. First of all, you need to take care of yourself. You can’t do anybody any good if you are a mess. Second, in this world, the way it is, you need money to live. I understand how bad you feel about making a living indirectly from other people’s suffering and the good you do, but until the government decides to pay everyone for their good deeds, you have to make a living somehow. Third, you are in no way at fault for any of those who died, including Uncle Ben. The only ones at fault are the ones who pulled the trigger.”
“But..”
“But nothing! That is the truth, and you take that into your heart right now young man!”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Ok, now part of why you came to those conclusions is because of your scientific mind. While your mind is amazing and capable of great things, it can also be your undoing, if you let your ego get the best of you. Your ego worked out a scenario, in perfect “post hoc, ergo propter hoc” fashion, which led you to the conclusion that YOU are responsible for those deaths.”
“Post hoc…? Where did you learn…?”
“Your dear old Aunt May is a lot smarter than you think. Anyway, you decided that it is up to YOU whether someone lives or dies. You gave yourself the Power and Responsibility of God. You know Peter; we never talked much about God when you were young, mostly because we didn’t need to. Religion is taught much of the time to make kids behave, and since you were such a good boy already, we didn’t feel the need to “put the fear of God” into you. Also, we knew that with your scientific mind, it wouldn’t be your language. You would want to prove whether or not God exists, but it doesn’t work that way. We figured that at some point you would come to terms with God in your own way. But right now, I feel that you need some perspective on God. Peter, why are you Spider-Man?”
“Because I was given this Power, and I have the Responsibility to..”
“Peter, you were also given the Power of that amazing scientific mind of yours. What about the Responsibility to use that?”
“…”
“We already know that a big part of why you are Spider-Man is out of guilt. Guilt because of what happened to Uncle Ben and how you thought it was your fault. But Peter, what do you enjoy about being Spider-Man?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hahaha, that fact that you don’t know what I mean is exactly the problem. Do you have fun cracking jokes, being sarcastic and embarrassing and punching out bad guys?”
“Yes.”
“Does it make you feel good to do what is right? To be the good guy?”
“Of course.”
“Do you feel amazing and free when you are swinging through the buildings of your city on your webs?”
Now with a smile, “Yes.”
“Peter, that is why God wants you to be Spider-Man. Not out of guilt or responsibility. Because you LOVE being Spider-Man. Because it is one of the things in this world that makes you the happiest. Because it is WHO YOU ARE. Peter, that is why Uncle Ben wants you to be Spider-Man, and it is why I want you to be Spider-Man.”
Peter weeps.
EPILOGUE
That weekend Peter calls aunt May. He is wearing his costume, minus the mask. (It is clean now.) She isn’t home so he leaves a message.
“Hi Aunt May, it’s Peter. I just want to thank you again for our little talk the other day; today is a brand new day for me. Oh, and I also wanted to let you know that I’ll be a little late to dinner tonight. I’m going to be out “doing what I love”, hehe. Ok, I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”
He pulls on his mask, leaps out the window and begins his patrol, swinging off into the sunset.
“Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig. Does whatever a Spider-Pig does. Can he swing from a thread? No he can’t, he’s a pig…”
At almost the same time, while Peter is leaving the message, Aunt May and J.J.J. Sr. are just walking in the door with a lot of luggage.
“Oh Jay, what a wonderful vacation that was! We will have to take two week cruises more often! It is good to be home, though. I hope Peter didn’t miss me too much. I think I heard him leaving a message as we were coming in.”
She hits the button and listens to his message.
“I wonder what talk he’s referring to? I am glad that whatever it was, he is doing what he loves! Well, if he’s planning on coming to dinner tonight, I guess I should get started making it.”
THE END
Friday, October 9, 2009
SPIDER-MAN: TEN SECONDS, ISSUE 3
This issue… Spider-Man VS Daredevil!!!
“I may be old, Mr. Murdock, but I’m not stupid.” Aunt May says. “You expect me to think that it’s coincidence that my nephew is the only one to be able to take a decent picture of Spider-Man, and that they are always from some inhumanly high perspective, AND that every time Spider-Man fights a super villain, Peter is mysteriously missing, then shows up looking like he’s a member of Fight Club.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“I know, I know, the first rule is you don’t talk about it. Believe it or not, I’ve actually seen it.”
“Mrs. Parker,”
“May.”
“May, what?”
“My name. It’s May. If I’m going to be so forward with you, the least I can do is let you use my first name.”
“Alright, May. Whatever your allegations are about your nephew and his “secret identity”, you have no right to come in here and harass me with accusations that have already been proven false.”
“Matthew, I am not your enemy, quite the opposite actually. However I do apologize for catching you off guard. I know it was very difficult when you were outed before, so I’ll pretend like you and Daredevil are two different people. Mr. Murdock, couldn’t you contact your friend Daredevil and tell him that an old woman wants him to help his friend Spider-Man.”
Matt calms down, and lets his super-senses do their thing. Everything checks out, and then some. There is something familiar about her, something…comforting. He’s not sure why, but he trusts her.
“You know Mrs. Parker, sorry, May, I did have this odd feeling before, like I used to know who Spider-Man was, but then I forgot. But that doesn’t make any sense! How would I forget something like that? Maybe that’s why you seem so familiar.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, what is it you want me…Daredevil…ME to do?”
“I want you to find him and bring him to me. I haven’t heard from Peter in about two weeks, but I keep hearing reports of Spider-Man being sighted, or saving people, so I know he’s ok. Well physically anyway, but something must be wrong emotionally. He has done this before, where he will lose himself in Spider-Man for a while. But it isn’t healthy because he usually becomes self-destructive when he does it. I need to talk to him and help bring him back from the edge. I need you to bring him here so I can do that”
“How am I supposed to find him? It’s not like he wears a watch that emits a high pitched frequency that only I can hear with my super-hearing.”
“He will easier to find than you think. When you find him, bring him back here. I’ll be waiting.”
“I’m not sure I can leave Hell’s Kitchen unattended. She needs me.”
“The Kitchen will be fine without you, just for tonight.”
Again he feels comforted and trusts her. “Ok,” he agrees.
Later that night, Daredevil is out looking for Peter. He is actually able to track him pretty quickly and easily, using just his sense of smell. After two weeks of not bathing and having food poisoning on top of that, Spider-Man has a vey unique odor, which is very easy to locate, even in the City. When Daredevil finally catches up with him, he is almost glad that he can’t see how bad he looks. It’s as if there is someone else behind the mask. Spider-Man’s body is frail and his costume is torn and dirty. His right arm is in a sling made out of old rags and he can barely walk. It’s a wonder he was able to make it to the roof. Daredevil swings over and lands on the roof directly in front of Spider-Man.
“Spider-Man, we have to talk.”
“No. You can’t delay me, not even for ten seconds!”
“Spider-Man, you…”
“Out of my way, Daredevil!”
“Peter, listen to me.”
“What did you just call me!?” Spider-Man lunges at him, but Daredevil easily steps out of the way.
“Your Aunt May came to me for help. She is worried about you.”
“WHAT!? How do you know who I am! Does she know? Did you tell her!?!?” He lunges again, Daredevil easily evades again.
“No, she came to me. She wants me to take you too her.”
“She’ll be fine. I have to go. People could die!” He runs away in the opposite direction.
“Sigh, I’m sorry Peter.” Daredevil throws his billy-club at Spider-Man. He is too weak to respond to the faint buzzing of his Spider-Sense, and the billy-club hits him in the head, knocking him unconscious.
TO BE CONCLUDED!
“I may be old, Mr. Murdock, but I’m not stupid.” Aunt May says. “You expect me to think that it’s coincidence that my nephew is the only one to be able to take a decent picture of Spider-Man, and that they are always from some inhumanly high perspective, AND that every time Spider-Man fights a super villain, Peter is mysteriously missing, then shows up looking like he’s a member of Fight Club.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“I know, I know, the first rule is you don’t talk about it. Believe it or not, I’ve actually seen it.”
“Mrs. Parker,”
“May.”
“May, what?”
“My name. It’s May. If I’m going to be so forward with you, the least I can do is let you use my first name.”
“Alright, May. Whatever your allegations are about your nephew and his “secret identity”, you have no right to come in here and harass me with accusations that have already been proven false.”
“Matthew, I am not your enemy, quite the opposite actually. However I do apologize for catching you off guard. I know it was very difficult when you were outed before, so I’ll pretend like you and Daredevil are two different people. Mr. Murdock, couldn’t you contact your friend Daredevil and tell him that an old woman wants him to help his friend Spider-Man.”
Matt calms down, and lets his super-senses do their thing. Everything checks out, and then some. There is something familiar about her, something…comforting. He’s not sure why, but he trusts her.
“You know Mrs. Parker, sorry, May, I did have this odd feeling before, like I used to know who Spider-Man was, but then I forgot. But that doesn’t make any sense! How would I forget something like that? Maybe that’s why you seem so familiar.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, what is it you want me…Daredevil…ME to do?”
“I want you to find him and bring him to me. I haven’t heard from Peter in about two weeks, but I keep hearing reports of Spider-Man being sighted, or saving people, so I know he’s ok. Well physically anyway, but something must be wrong emotionally. He has done this before, where he will lose himself in Spider-Man for a while. But it isn’t healthy because he usually becomes self-destructive when he does it. I need to talk to him and help bring him back from the edge. I need you to bring him here so I can do that”
“How am I supposed to find him? It’s not like he wears a watch that emits a high pitched frequency that only I can hear with my super-hearing.”
“He will easier to find than you think. When you find him, bring him back here. I’ll be waiting.”
“I’m not sure I can leave Hell’s Kitchen unattended. She needs me.”
“The Kitchen will be fine without you, just for tonight.”
Again he feels comforted and trusts her. “Ok,” he agrees.
Later that night, Daredevil is out looking for Peter. He is actually able to track him pretty quickly and easily, using just his sense of smell. After two weeks of not bathing and having food poisoning on top of that, Spider-Man has a vey unique odor, which is very easy to locate, even in the City. When Daredevil finally catches up with him, he is almost glad that he can’t see how bad he looks. It’s as if there is someone else behind the mask. Spider-Man’s body is frail and his costume is torn and dirty. His right arm is in a sling made out of old rags and he can barely walk. It’s a wonder he was able to make it to the roof. Daredevil swings over and lands on the roof directly in front of Spider-Man.
“Spider-Man, we have to talk.”
“No. You can’t delay me, not even for ten seconds!”
“Spider-Man, you…”
“Out of my way, Daredevil!”
“Peter, listen to me.”
“What did you just call me!?” Spider-Man lunges at him, but Daredevil easily steps out of the way.
“Your Aunt May came to me for help. She is worried about you.”
“WHAT!? How do you know who I am! Does she know? Did you tell her!?!?” He lunges again, Daredevil easily evades again.
“No, she came to me. She wants me to take you too her.”
“She’ll be fine. I have to go. People could die!” He runs away in the opposite direction.
“Sigh, I’m sorry Peter.” Daredevil throws his billy-club at Spider-Man. He is too weak to respond to the faint buzzing of his Spider-Sense, and the billy-club hits him in the head, knocking him unconscious.
TO BE CONCLUDED!
Friday, September 25, 2009
SPIDER-MAN: TEN SECONDS, ISSUE 2
We begin this chapter with Spider-Man web-swinging through the city, only now, it is not so glorious. It has been over a week since he decided to be on the job 100% of the time. He has not showered, slept, or changed his costume in all that time, and the only food he has eaten is what he can grab on the run. He has only been back to his apartment when he needs more web cartridges, and even then he is in and out as fast as possible, for fear of someone else paying the ultimate price for his delay. Needless to say, he is exhausted, but he doesn’t let that stop him.
“Shoot. I’m almost out of web fluid, but I haven’t finished my patrol yet. I can stay out longer if I conserve it by running and jumping from building to building instead of web swinging. That should at least get me through the rest of this round before starting over again.”
He lands on the nearest rooftop and begins his run-and-jump through the rest of his route. Soon it pays off.
“HELP!”
“I told you to shut up!”
Once Spider-Man hears this, he is in the alley like a bullet. He makes quick work of the would-be mugger, punching him out and webbing him to the wall. No jokes, no sarcasm, and before the woman can say “thank you”, Spider-Man is gone. He is back to the rooftops to look for his next potential victim to save.
After more exhausting running-and-jumping, Spider-Man finally gets back to his apartment. He bolts I through the window and goes right to where his web-cartridge stash is.
“Oh man, this last batch is all that’s left. I guess I should keep running and jumping from building to building. It’s much more tiring, but I’ve got to conserve these since they’re my last. I haven’t figured out how I can make more since in the time it would take me to mix up a new batch, people could be dying. I’ve already wasted too much time here as it is. I should grab some food for the road and take off.”
He drops the cartridges on the kitchen table and begins rummaging through the fridge. While he is doing that, the phone rings, which at first he ignores. However, once the machine picks up and he hears Aunt May’s voice, he lifts his head up out of the fridge.
“Hello, Peter, are you there?”
“Maybe I should answer it… No. In the time it would take, someone could die.”
He slams the fridge door closed, taking with him whatever he happened to have in his hand at that moment, without even checking to see if it is still good (P.S. it isn’t). He swipes the web cartridges from the kitchen table and dives out the window, going out on patrol again.
“Peter, please pick up if you’re there. I haven’t seen or heard from you in over a week and I am worried. Peter, if there is something wrong or if you’re in trouble, I hope you know that you can always talk to me about it. Well, please call me as soon as possible to let me know you’re all right. I love you, Peter.”
Aunt May hangs up the phone, thinks for second, picks it up again and dials a new number. After a moment she says, “Yes, hello, I’d like to make an appointment. It’s rather complicated; I’d prefer to just explain when I get there. Yes, thank you. It’s May Parker. Ok, I’ll see you then. Thank you, goodbye.”
A few days later, we catch up with an even worse-off wall-crawler. He ate the rotten food from his fridge, giving him food poisoning, which normally, wouldn’t affect him this bad. However, with the lack of nourishment and rest, it hit him almost as hard as it would the rest of us. (You can imagine for yourself what it’s like trying to deal with vomiting and diarrhea in that costume.) By this point his costume is starting to look a little loose on him, due to a loss of weigh and muscle mass.
Still using his running and jumping method, he comes to a gap in buildings that he cannot leap in a single bound. After running and jumping as far as he can, he relies on his trusty right-hand-web-shooter to take him the rest of the way… and it fails. It takes him a second to realize he shot a blank. He franticly tries it a few more times, but it is completely empty. He tries his left-hand one, which does shoot a web-line, but now he is taken by surprise and off balance. He is able to hold on to the web line, but without being able to shoot a web-line from his right hand, or switch hands and shoot another web-line from his left hand (remember, he’s sick) to stabilize himself; he just ends up slamming into the side of the building. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he climbs his way to the top of the building that he just crashed into and assesses the situation.
“This is my absolute last web-cartridge. I should switch it to my right hand, since if I’m only going to have one, it should be on my dominant hand.” While he is doing that, he hears a scream.
He jumps of the building and on his way down, looks for the source of the scream, which he soon finds. There is a car-jacking taking place, but instead of the driver getting out, the car-jacker made her move to the passenger seat. At first, Spider-Man follows the car, web-swinging with his one web-shooter, while he figures out what to do.
“I don’t want to hurt the woman, so I can’t just swing in the side window feet first and kick the driver. I also can’t just slam down on the hood, smash the windshield and jerk the wheel. She probably doesn’t have her seatbelt on, so I should slow the car down gradually. I also don’t want him to freak out and shoot her. Ok, first priority is to disarm him. I’ve got it!”
Spider-Man lands, clinging to the side of the car. This surprises the car-jacker, so he points his gun at Spider-Man, as he hoped. Spider-Man webs up the gun and gives him a quick punch to the face, knocking him unconscious.
“Put it in neutral!” he screams at the woman. When he sees that she does, he leaps from the car. “Please, God, let me have enough left,” he thinks. While flipping through the air he shoots a web-line at the driver’s side rear fender, which he quickly takes it in his left hand, and then does the same to the roof, trunk, passenger’s side rear fender, and once he lands, the same to the rear axle. Making sure he has a good grip on the web-lines in his left hand, he plants his feet and right hand to the street. The web-line stretches and starts to become taught, then tight as he strains against the weight and speed of the car. It gradually comes to a stop, at which point he releases his hold on the ground.
Still holding onto the webs he walks, on uneasy legs, to the car, it’s engine still revving. He opens the driver’s side door, and pulls the car-jacker out. The engine idles down, now that his foot is no longer on the gas. Considerate until the end, Spider-Man gets in, presses the brake, puts the car in park, and turns off the engine. To conserve webbing, he wraps the car-jacker up in the webbing he used to stop the car. As the woman finally gets herself together enough to come say “thank you”, Spider-Man crawls up a lamppost and hops to the nearest building top.
His arms and legs are like rubber, but still he presses on, making his way back to his patrol route. After a few leaps from building to building, he comes to another huge gap. Without thinking, he launches himself as far across as he can, and aims his web-shooter to do the rest. It shoots about four feet of webs followed by nothing but air, like an emptied silly-string can. He falls, barely even having the energy to flail. He hits a fire-escape which bounces him to the adjacent building and he slides down the wall to finally land in a dumpster; bloody, broken and unconscious.
The next day, Aunt May walks into a waiting room.
The receptionist asks, “May I help you?”
“Yes, I have an appointment. My name is May Parker.”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Parker, go right in.”
“Thank you.”
“Hello Mrs. Parker, what can I help you with?” asks the man behind the desk.
“My nephew Peter needs your help, Mr. Murdock. Or should I say, Spider-Man needs your help, Daredevil.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
“Shoot. I’m almost out of web fluid, but I haven’t finished my patrol yet. I can stay out longer if I conserve it by running and jumping from building to building instead of web swinging. That should at least get me through the rest of this round before starting over again.”
He lands on the nearest rooftop and begins his run-and-jump through the rest of his route. Soon it pays off.
“HELP!”
“I told you to shut up!”
Once Spider-Man hears this, he is in the alley like a bullet. He makes quick work of the would-be mugger, punching him out and webbing him to the wall. No jokes, no sarcasm, and before the woman can say “thank you”, Spider-Man is gone. He is back to the rooftops to look for his next potential victim to save.
After more exhausting running-and-jumping, Spider-Man finally gets back to his apartment. He bolts I through the window and goes right to where his web-cartridge stash is.
“Oh man, this last batch is all that’s left. I guess I should keep running and jumping from building to building. It’s much more tiring, but I’ve got to conserve these since they’re my last. I haven’t figured out how I can make more since in the time it would take me to mix up a new batch, people could be dying. I’ve already wasted too much time here as it is. I should grab some food for the road and take off.”
He drops the cartridges on the kitchen table and begins rummaging through the fridge. While he is doing that, the phone rings, which at first he ignores. However, once the machine picks up and he hears Aunt May’s voice, he lifts his head up out of the fridge.
“Hello, Peter, are you there?”
“Maybe I should answer it… No. In the time it would take, someone could die.”
He slams the fridge door closed, taking with him whatever he happened to have in his hand at that moment, without even checking to see if it is still good (P.S. it isn’t). He swipes the web cartridges from the kitchen table and dives out the window, going out on patrol again.
“Peter, please pick up if you’re there. I haven’t seen or heard from you in over a week and I am worried. Peter, if there is something wrong or if you’re in trouble, I hope you know that you can always talk to me about it. Well, please call me as soon as possible to let me know you’re all right. I love you, Peter.”
Aunt May hangs up the phone, thinks for second, picks it up again and dials a new number. After a moment she says, “Yes, hello, I’d like to make an appointment. It’s rather complicated; I’d prefer to just explain when I get there. Yes, thank you. It’s May Parker. Ok, I’ll see you then. Thank you, goodbye.”
A few days later, we catch up with an even worse-off wall-crawler. He ate the rotten food from his fridge, giving him food poisoning, which normally, wouldn’t affect him this bad. However, with the lack of nourishment and rest, it hit him almost as hard as it would the rest of us. (You can imagine for yourself what it’s like trying to deal with vomiting and diarrhea in that costume.) By this point his costume is starting to look a little loose on him, due to a loss of weigh and muscle mass.
Still using his running and jumping method, he comes to a gap in buildings that he cannot leap in a single bound. After running and jumping as far as he can, he relies on his trusty right-hand-web-shooter to take him the rest of the way… and it fails. It takes him a second to realize he shot a blank. He franticly tries it a few more times, but it is completely empty. He tries his left-hand one, which does shoot a web-line, but now he is taken by surprise and off balance. He is able to hold on to the web line, but without being able to shoot a web-line from his right hand, or switch hands and shoot another web-line from his left hand (remember, he’s sick) to stabilize himself; he just ends up slamming into the side of the building. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he climbs his way to the top of the building that he just crashed into and assesses the situation.
“This is my absolute last web-cartridge. I should switch it to my right hand, since if I’m only going to have one, it should be on my dominant hand.” While he is doing that, he hears a scream.
He jumps of the building and on his way down, looks for the source of the scream, which he soon finds. There is a car-jacking taking place, but instead of the driver getting out, the car-jacker made her move to the passenger seat. At first, Spider-Man follows the car, web-swinging with his one web-shooter, while he figures out what to do.
“I don’t want to hurt the woman, so I can’t just swing in the side window feet first and kick the driver. I also can’t just slam down on the hood, smash the windshield and jerk the wheel. She probably doesn’t have her seatbelt on, so I should slow the car down gradually. I also don’t want him to freak out and shoot her. Ok, first priority is to disarm him. I’ve got it!”
Spider-Man lands, clinging to the side of the car. This surprises the car-jacker, so he points his gun at Spider-Man, as he hoped. Spider-Man webs up the gun and gives him a quick punch to the face, knocking him unconscious.
“Put it in neutral!” he screams at the woman. When he sees that she does, he leaps from the car. “Please, God, let me have enough left,” he thinks. While flipping through the air he shoots a web-line at the driver’s side rear fender, which he quickly takes it in his left hand, and then does the same to the roof, trunk, passenger’s side rear fender, and once he lands, the same to the rear axle. Making sure he has a good grip on the web-lines in his left hand, he plants his feet and right hand to the street. The web-line stretches and starts to become taught, then tight as he strains against the weight and speed of the car. It gradually comes to a stop, at which point he releases his hold on the ground.
Still holding onto the webs he walks, on uneasy legs, to the car, it’s engine still revving. He opens the driver’s side door, and pulls the car-jacker out. The engine idles down, now that his foot is no longer on the gas. Considerate until the end, Spider-Man gets in, presses the brake, puts the car in park, and turns off the engine. To conserve webbing, he wraps the car-jacker up in the webbing he used to stop the car. As the woman finally gets herself together enough to come say “thank you”, Spider-Man crawls up a lamppost and hops to the nearest building top.
His arms and legs are like rubber, but still he presses on, making his way back to his patrol route. After a few leaps from building to building, he comes to another huge gap. Without thinking, he launches himself as far across as he can, and aims his web-shooter to do the rest. It shoots about four feet of webs followed by nothing but air, like an emptied silly-string can. He falls, barely even having the energy to flail. He hits a fire-escape which bounces him to the adjacent building and he slides down the wall to finally land in a dumpster; bloody, broken and unconscious.
The next day, Aunt May walks into a waiting room.
The receptionist asks, “May I help you?”
“Yes, I have an appointment. My name is May Parker.”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Parker, go right in.”
“Thank you.”
“Hello Mrs. Parker, what can I help you with?” asks the man behind the desk.
“My nephew Peter needs your help, Mr. Murdock. Or should I say, Spider-Man needs your help, Daredevil.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
Thursday, September 17, 2009
SPIDER-MAN: TEN SECONDS, ISSUE 1
A lot can happen in ten seconds…
We begin our story with Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, web-swinging through the fine city of New York. It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining and our hero is in high spirits.
He is singing (to the tune of the Batman TV theme), “Na-na-na-na na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na na-na-na-na, Spider-Man… Spider-Man… Here-comes-Peter-on-a-web-line, but-his-name’s-not-Peter-it-is, Spider-Man… Spider-Man…”
He happens to look down an alley while he is swinging by and notices a mugging taking place.
“Whoa, looks like someone didn’t get the memo that today is my day off, so no mugging is allowed. And this poor soul didn’t get the memo that you shouldn’t walk down alleys in New York. Lucky for him, his Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man happened to be swinging by. Lucky for me too, my rent is due in a couple of days and I’m almost out of web fluid, not to mention food. It’ll just take me ten seconds to web my camera to the corner of the building, angle it toward where the action will take place and set the timer. There, all…”
BANG!!
“What the!?”
Spider-Man turns his attention from his camera to the alleyway just in time to see the victim lying on the ground and the mugger running out to the street.
“Oh no…”
Less concerned with stopping the mugger, Spider-Man jumps into the alley to check the condition of the victim.
“Hey, are you ok? Can you hear me? Oh my God, I don’t think he’s breathing. I better get him to a hospital. There’s so much blood. This web bandage should help in the meantime.”
Spider-Man gently picks the man up and puts him over his shoulder. He web-swings as fast as he can without jostling the man too much. He arrives at the hospital in less than five minutes.
“HELP! Please, I need a doctor! Hurry, this man has been shot!”
“Here, I’ll take him. What happened?”
“I saw him getting mugged so I was going to help him. I just stopped for ten seconds to…”
“Ok, I’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll be here waiting, I need to know he’s ok. Please, let me know when he’s ok.”
“Someone will let you know.”
“I don’t care if it takes all day…”
It does not take all day however. Within minutes, the doctor returns.
“Doctor, how is he? Is he ok?”
“I’m sorry Spider-Man, but I’m afraid we lost him. He’d lost too much blood by the time you brought him here. We tried, but could not revive him. Now if you’ll excuse me, we need to contact his family.”
Spider-Man returns to the alley to get his camera, and starts to think out loud.
“It’s all because of this. All because I just had to stop and set up my camera. I just had to make sure I got pictures of me being a hero. If I had just stopped the mugging as soon as I got here, that man would still be alive. Once again, someone died because of my inaction. I’ve been so selfish, making a living off of these crimes and other people’s misfortune. From now on, I am only about the mission. No one else will die on my watch!”
Spider-Man swings off to patrol, purposefully leaving his camera behind.
TO BE CONTINUED…
We begin our story with Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, web-swinging through the fine city of New York. It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining and our hero is in high spirits.
He is singing (to the tune of the Batman TV theme), “Na-na-na-na na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na na-na-na-na, Spider-Man… Spider-Man… Here-comes-Peter-on-a-web-line, but-his-name’s-not-Peter-it-is, Spider-Man… Spider-Man…”
He happens to look down an alley while he is swinging by and notices a mugging taking place.
“Whoa, looks like someone didn’t get the memo that today is my day off, so no mugging is allowed. And this poor soul didn’t get the memo that you shouldn’t walk down alleys in New York. Lucky for him, his Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man happened to be swinging by. Lucky for me too, my rent is due in a couple of days and I’m almost out of web fluid, not to mention food. It’ll just take me ten seconds to web my camera to the corner of the building, angle it toward where the action will take place and set the timer. There, all…”
BANG!!
“What the!?”
Spider-Man turns his attention from his camera to the alleyway just in time to see the victim lying on the ground and the mugger running out to the street.
“Oh no…”
Less concerned with stopping the mugger, Spider-Man jumps into the alley to check the condition of the victim.
“Hey, are you ok? Can you hear me? Oh my God, I don’t think he’s breathing. I better get him to a hospital. There’s so much blood. This web bandage should help in the meantime.”
Spider-Man gently picks the man up and puts him over his shoulder. He web-swings as fast as he can without jostling the man too much. He arrives at the hospital in less than five minutes.
“HELP! Please, I need a doctor! Hurry, this man has been shot!”
“Here, I’ll take him. What happened?”
“I saw him getting mugged so I was going to help him. I just stopped for ten seconds to…”
“Ok, I’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll be here waiting, I need to know he’s ok. Please, let me know when he’s ok.”
“Someone will let you know.”
“I don’t care if it takes all day…”
It does not take all day however. Within minutes, the doctor returns.
“Doctor, how is he? Is he ok?”
“I’m sorry Spider-Man, but I’m afraid we lost him. He’d lost too much blood by the time you brought him here. We tried, but could not revive him. Now if you’ll excuse me, we need to contact his family.”
Spider-Man returns to the alley to get his camera, and starts to think out loud.
“It’s all because of this. All because I just had to stop and set up my camera. I just had to make sure I got pictures of me being a hero. If I had just stopped the mugging as soon as I got here, that man would still be alive. Once again, someone died because of my inaction. I’ve been so selfish, making a living off of these crimes and other people’s misfortune. From now on, I am only about the mission. No one else will die on my watch!”
Spider-Man swings off to patrol, purposefully leaving his camera behind.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
OK. This is how it is. They’re gone. Not coming back. All I can do is live with that. All I can do is live. It still fucking sucks and it still hurts like hell, but I can’t change any of it. Sitting around thinking about it and feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse, not better. The only way it’s going to get better is if I go out and do something. Anything.
The “me” that I was before this happened is gone. When it happened, I entered a new part of my life, shitty though it was. I miss so many parts of my old life before it happened, even things as simple as just being happy. Not having to do anything to make myself happy, just being happy. I wish so much that I could go back to that…but I know I can’t. The only thing I can do is to move forward. The only way I can make things better is to go to the next part of my life. If the time before was, “before my family died” and since has been, “after my family died”, I have to move to something beyond that. I have to begin the part of my life that is simply, “Tim’s Life”. I kind of like that. Puts a little smile on my face.
I’m going to take a deep breath and take the next step. I am now going to embark on this journey that is “Tim’s Life”. I don’t know what it will be, but I know it’s a journey that only I can take. I know they will be there, watching me.
I miss you like crazy, and I will always love you. Goodbye.
OK. This is how it is. They’re gone. Not coming back. All I can do is live with that. All I can do is live. It still fucking sucks and it still hurts like hell, but I can’t change any of it. Sitting around thinking about it and feeling sorry for myself only makes it worse, not better. The only way it’s going to get better is if I go out and do something. Anything.
The “me” that I was before this happened is gone. When it happened, I entered a new part of my life, shitty though it was. I miss so many parts of my old life before it happened, even things as simple as just being happy. Not having to do anything to make myself happy, just being happy. I wish so much that I could go back to that…but I know I can’t. The only thing I can do is to move forward. The only way I can make things better is to go to the next part of my life. If the time before was, “before my family died” and since has been, “after my family died”, I have to move to something beyond that. I have to begin the part of my life that is simply, “Tim’s Life”. I kind of like that. Puts a little smile on my face.
I’m going to take a deep breath and take the next step. I am now going to embark on this journey that is “Tim’s Life”. I don’t know what it will be, but I know it’s a journey that only I can take. I know they will be there, watching me.
I miss you like crazy, and I will always love you. Goodbye.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
I read a comic book one time that said, “you can’t feel numb, you can only be numb.” That was it. I couldn’t feel, I could only be numb. It’s not that I wasn’t sad, or upset or anything. I think it was that my mind and body just…shut down. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe it was to protect myself. I don’t know. I was a zombie.
I think that one of the things that made it so hard was that I had no one to support in their grieving. If it was just my Dad that died, I could be there for my Mom and sisters, and I probably wouldn’t be feeling it as much. But it was only me. I had all of it. Alone. Sure I have friends that were there for me, but they were not grieving with me. I think that grieving with someone would have made it easier.
At this point, I was way past the time off from school and work that they had given me to grieve. I wasn’t ready to go back however. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I had trouble finding importance in anything. How does that work? “My whole family is dead, but it’s really important that I go to school and get a degree so I can write music.” Makes no sense. And don’t even get me started on my job. Talk about pointless. “My family is dead, but I need to fold shirts and try to get the customers to buy a belt with their pants.” Fucking stupid. Even fun things lost their luster. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to play video games, I didn’t want to watch movies. Hence, I spent most of my time in bed.
One morning (or was it afternoon?) my roommate actually knocked on my door to ask if I was going to class. I guess he knew by this point that I had been blowing them off for a while. I told him no. He took some time trying to convince me, (which in retrospect I do appreciate) but I didn’t even care enough to make up an excuse or anything. I just let him talk. I asked if he was done, he said yes, and I told him to let me get back to sleep. I guess he respected my privacy enough not to come in, open my shade to let the sun in and drag me out of bed (like you see in the movies). After a moment I heard him walk away and leave for class. I lay there for a while, staring at the wall, and at some point, found my way to sleep.
I wake up to the phone ringing. I’ve got to turn the ringer volume down. I just listen to it, my whole body getting angrier with each ring. When it finally stops, I hear the answering machine’s outgoing message come on and then the muffled voice of someone leaving a message. I roll over and realize that I have to piss so bad it hurts, so I drag myself out of bed and go. While I’m up, I figure I’ll shuffle around the house for a little bit. I notice that it’s getting dark out, so I go into the kitchen to see what time it is. It’s 5:38, which gives me a good idea who was calling. I hit the message button and listen. Sure enough it was work. “You were supposed to be here at five, blah blah blah, we are sorry about your family, blah blah blah, but we’re going to have to fire you… Blah… Blah… Blah.” I look in the fridge to see if any food catches my eye, but nothing does. I check the freezer, but also nothing. Same goes for all the cupboards. Ok, now I’m bored. Then, something occurs to me. Hey, don’t I always complain about not having enough time to compose? Shit. No school, no work, I’ve got nothing but time! Unfortunately however, this optimism is short-lived. I turn on my computer and keyboard, and open all the appropriate files, and find all my notes…and end up playing the melodies to the themes of my favorite film scores. At least it’s something, I guess.
I’m still “playing” a couple of hours later when my roommate comes home and I hear him hit the message button on the answering machine. I didn’t hit the delete button after I listened to my message, so now it plays for him. He comes practically storming in and gives me a surprised and disappointed sounding, “You got fired?” “That’s what the message says,” I tell him. He tells me, “Tim, I know that you’re upset, but you can’t let go of all your responsibilities.” I tell him that, “It’s not because I’m upset, it’s because I fucking hated my job and at this point, it didn’t make sense to go anymore.” “What about rent?” he throws at me. The only response I can come up with is that, “I don’t really care about it right now.” “The world doesn’t just go away when you want it to,” is his last ditch effort. I tell him that, “I know the world doesn’t go away, but it will be fine without me for a while.”
I read a comic book one time that said, “you can’t feel numb, you can only be numb.” That was it. I couldn’t feel, I could only be numb. It’s not that I wasn’t sad, or upset or anything. I think it was that my mind and body just…shut down. Maybe I was in shock, or maybe it was to protect myself. I don’t know. I was a zombie.
I think that one of the things that made it so hard was that I had no one to support in their grieving. If it was just my Dad that died, I could be there for my Mom and sisters, and I probably wouldn’t be feeling it as much. But it was only me. I had all of it. Alone. Sure I have friends that were there for me, but they were not grieving with me. I think that grieving with someone would have made it easier.
At this point, I was way past the time off from school and work that they had given me to grieve. I wasn’t ready to go back however. Or maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe I had trouble finding importance in anything. How does that work? “My whole family is dead, but it’s really important that I go to school and get a degree so I can write music.” Makes no sense. And don’t even get me started on my job. Talk about pointless. “My family is dead, but I need to fold shirts and try to get the customers to buy a belt with their pants.” Fucking stupid. Even fun things lost their luster. I didn’t want to read, I didn’t want to play video games, I didn’t want to watch movies. Hence, I spent most of my time in bed.
One morning (or was it afternoon?) my roommate actually knocked on my door to ask if I was going to class. I guess he knew by this point that I had been blowing them off for a while. I told him no. He took some time trying to convince me, (which in retrospect I do appreciate) but I didn’t even care enough to make up an excuse or anything. I just let him talk. I asked if he was done, he said yes, and I told him to let me get back to sleep. I guess he respected my privacy enough not to come in, open my shade to let the sun in and drag me out of bed (like you see in the movies). After a moment I heard him walk away and leave for class. I lay there for a while, staring at the wall, and at some point, found my way to sleep.
I wake up to the phone ringing. I’ve got to turn the ringer volume down. I just listen to it, my whole body getting angrier with each ring. When it finally stops, I hear the answering machine’s outgoing message come on and then the muffled voice of someone leaving a message. I roll over and realize that I have to piss so bad it hurts, so I drag myself out of bed and go. While I’m up, I figure I’ll shuffle around the house for a little bit. I notice that it’s getting dark out, so I go into the kitchen to see what time it is. It’s 5:38, which gives me a good idea who was calling. I hit the message button and listen. Sure enough it was work. “You were supposed to be here at five, blah blah blah, we are sorry about your family, blah blah blah, but we’re going to have to fire you… Blah… Blah… Blah.” I look in the fridge to see if any food catches my eye, but nothing does. I check the freezer, but also nothing. Same goes for all the cupboards. Ok, now I’m bored. Then, something occurs to me. Hey, don’t I always complain about not having enough time to compose? Shit. No school, no work, I’ve got nothing but time! Unfortunately however, this optimism is short-lived. I turn on my computer and keyboard, and open all the appropriate files, and find all my notes…and end up playing the melodies to the themes of my favorite film scores. At least it’s something, I guess.
I’m still “playing” a couple of hours later when my roommate comes home and I hear him hit the message button on the answering machine. I didn’t hit the delete button after I listened to my message, so now it plays for him. He comes practically storming in and gives me a surprised and disappointed sounding, “You got fired?” “That’s what the message says,” I tell him. He tells me, “Tim, I know that you’re upset, but you can’t let go of all your responsibilities.” I tell him that, “It’s not because I’m upset, it’s because I fucking hated my job and at this point, it didn’t make sense to go anymore.” “What about rent?” he throws at me. The only response I can come up with is that, “I don’t really care about it right now.” “The world doesn’t just go away when you want it to,” is his last ditch effort. I tell him that, “I know the world doesn’t go away, but it will be fine without me for a while.”
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
Hi God, it’s Tim. We both know I don’t normally come to you with stuff like this, because I know that it’s not your nature, or the nature of our relationship. I know that you’re not some being “out there” and instead you’re “in here”. But I don’t know what else to do. I guess I just feel helpless, and maybe in this time of need it’s comforting to think of you out there, watching over me. I mean, the book really did help me to remember how the conversation works. But I guess with all that’s happened, I’ve forgotten again. That’s why I’m coming to you now, like this. On my knees, praying. Please, bring them back.
Even as I kneel here and think about it, it seems crazy. What are you going to do, bring them back from the grave like zombies? That’s just stupid. I mean I guess you could turn back time and make it so they didn’t die in the first place. You are Omnipotent. I know! You could make it so that they faked their own death, for like a witness protection program, and they’ve been alive all along and they haven’t gotten word to me yet. It would look more convincing this way if anyone is keeping an eye on me. Wait, that’s stupid too. I know it’s not up to me how you do it. It’s probably outside the realm of my understanding anyway. So OK, go ahead. Do what you need to do. Still no?
Ok, what if I promise to start going to church again? I’ll go every day and twice on Sunday. How about…girls. I’ll give up on girls. I’ll stay single and devote my life to you. What if I never play video games again and I give up all of my comic books? I’ll work in soup kitchens and give all my stuff to homeless people. I’ll quit composition and I’ll become a music teacher if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want me to do, just please give them back.
“Sigh…whatever.”
Hi God, it’s Tim. We both know I don’t normally come to you with stuff like this, because I know that it’s not your nature, or the nature of our relationship. I know that you’re not some being “out there” and instead you’re “in here”. But I don’t know what else to do. I guess I just feel helpless, and maybe in this time of need it’s comforting to think of you out there, watching over me. I mean, the book really did help me to remember how the conversation works. But I guess with all that’s happened, I’ve forgotten again. That’s why I’m coming to you now, like this. On my knees, praying. Please, bring them back.
Even as I kneel here and think about it, it seems crazy. What are you going to do, bring them back from the grave like zombies? That’s just stupid. I mean I guess you could turn back time and make it so they didn’t die in the first place. You are Omnipotent. I know! You could make it so that they faked their own death, for like a witness protection program, and they’ve been alive all along and they haven’t gotten word to me yet. It would look more convincing this way if anyone is keeping an eye on me. Wait, that’s stupid too. I know it’s not up to me how you do it. It’s probably outside the realm of my understanding anyway. So OK, go ahead. Do what you need to do. Still no?
Ok, what if I promise to start going to church again? I’ll go every day and twice on Sunday. How about…girls. I’ll give up on girls. I’ll stay single and devote my life to you. What if I never play video games again and I give up all of my comic books? I’ll work in soup kitchens and give all my stuff to homeless people. I’ll quit composition and I’ll become a music teacher if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want me to do, just please give them back.
“Sigh…whatever.”
Friday, June 20, 2008
Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
“This is so fucked up! My Dad’s a Firefighter. We had smoke alarms in the house. How could this happen?”
“I don’t know man. It…I don’t know.”
I’m back in that favorite doughnut place with my best friend again. This time the conversation is very different.
“It doesn’t make any sense. None of them woke up at any point and noticed? Not one of them thought, ‘Gee, it’s really hot in here’ or ‘I wonder where all the smoke is coming from’? I mean fucking burned alive! How horrible is that!?”
“Actually, when people die in a fire like that, it’s from smoke inhalation. They suffocate before the flames get to them. It’s very rare that someone actually burns alive.”
“Well thank God for small favors!” I say sarcastically.
“I just figured you’d feel better about it if you knew that it was at least…peaceful.”
“Sigh…I guess. OK, yeah you’re right. I’m glad that they weren’t burning and screaming with their skin melting off when they died. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone.”
“I know.”
“If someone had called sooner and if the fire trucks had gotten there faster, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe one of them would have woken up when they heard the siren and gotten everyone out.”
“Maybe, but…”
“And how did the fire even start!? Did someone leave a candle burning or a curling iron plugged in or something? My family’s too obsessive compulsive and afraid of something like that happening to not check and make sure before going to bed.”
“That’s true, but…”
“FUCK! Do you know what the worst part is? The whole time I was at my concert, I was pissed off at them. I thought they just forgot or didn’t feel like driving down or blew me off. I was livid! Come to find out, they were dead. They’re dead and all I could think about is how they weren’t at my concert.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up.”
“RRRRGOD!” After this last outburst I got very tired all of a sudden. I put my head down in my arms, on the table. “I just feel…crazy. That’s the only way I can describe it. Does that make sense.”
“It’ll be OK. I don’t know how or when, and I know you probably can’t imagine it being OK, but it will be. You will be OK.”
“God help me.”
“This is so fucked up! My Dad’s a Firefighter. We had smoke alarms in the house. How could this happen?”
“I don’t know man. It…I don’t know.”
I’m back in that favorite doughnut place with my best friend again. This time the conversation is very different.
“It doesn’t make any sense. None of them woke up at any point and noticed? Not one of them thought, ‘Gee, it’s really hot in here’ or ‘I wonder where all the smoke is coming from’? I mean fucking burned alive! How horrible is that!?”
“Actually, when people die in a fire like that, it’s from smoke inhalation. They suffocate before the flames get to them. It’s very rare that someone actually burns alive.”
“Well thank God for small favors!” I say sarcastically.
“I just figured you’d feel better about it if you knew that it was at least…peaceful.”
“Sigh…I guess. OK, yeah you’re right. I’m glad that they weren’t burning and screaming with their skin melting off when they died. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone.”
“I know.”
“If someone had called sooner and if the fire trucks had gotten there faster, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Maybe one of them would have woken up when they heard the siren and gotten everyone out.”
“Maybe, but…”
“And how did the fire even start!? Did someone leave a candle burning or a curling iron plugged in or something? My family’s too obsessive compulsive and afraid of something like that happening to not check and make sure before going to bed.”
“That’s true, but…”
“FUCK! Do you know what the worst part is? The whole time I was at my concert, I was pissed off at them. I thought they just forgot or didn’t feel like driving down or blew me off. I was livid! Come to find out, they were dead. They’re dead and all I could think about is how they weren’t at my concert.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up.”
“RRRRGOD!” After this last outburst I got very tired all of a sudden. I put my head down in my arms, on the table. “I just feel…crazy. That’s the only way I can describe it. Does that make sense.”
“It’ll be OK. I don’t know how or when, and I know you probably can’t imagine it being OK, but it will be. You will be OK.”
“God help me.”
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
It was a dream. It was all a bad dream. I must have watched a fucked up movie this week. Or maybe ate something weird before I went to bed last night. I should get up. Maybe I’ll give them a call. What day is it? Maybe the concert hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I dreamed that too. I should go see what day it is. Maybe I have class today. It might be a weekday. I’ll go check. In a minute. I do have to piss though. OK, I’ll get up.
I got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. I could hear the TV on and then my roommate moving around. When I came out of the bathroom, he startled me, because he was right there in the hallway.
“Ah! Hey, what’s up? What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty. How…how are you?”
“Good. I had some fucked up dreams, but I got a lot of sleep. How are you?”
“Um…I’m fine. Listen…”
“Hey, what day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Well I guess I’m not going to class then, haha. How come you’re not in class?”
“I told you I’d go with you.”
“Go? Do I have something today? Let me check my planner.”
I run into my room and quickly fish through my bag. When I find my planner, I flip through to this month. By this time my roommate is standing in my doorway.
“Oh, his wake is today. I must’ve dreamed going to that too. You’re coming to the wake with me?”
“No…well yeah, but today we’re going to make the arrangements.”
“Oh no, his family took care of that all ready. I do want to go to his wake though, and that’s cool that you’re coming.”
“What? No, that was last week.”
“No, today. Look, you said it’s Wednesday, here it is in my planner, “wake”.”
“That’s last week. This is today. We’re going to…”
“No, because here’s where my Wind Ensemble concert is and that’s this coming Sunday…”
“No, that was last Sunday.”
“No, that was a dream, which means the concert didn’t happen yet, which means that it is this coming Sunday!”
“You really don’t know what we’re doing today do you?”
“Yes it’s right here: the wake!”
“Tim…we’re going to make funeral arrangements…”
“I told you, his family is doing them.”
“For your family!”
“Fuck you! That’s not fuckin’ cool! How would you like it if after you got up, all disoriented from a nightmare, I tried to trick you into thinking your family was dead and that it was one week into the future!?”
“I’m not trying to trick you. You must’ve blocked it out or something…”
“IT. WAS. A. DREAM!!”
“Tim, it wasn’t.”
“Oh yeah, then how did they die?”
“…The house burned down with everyone in it.”
“…”
“You came home Sunday, after your Wind Ensemble concert and said that they didn’t show up. There was a message from your Grandmother on the answering machine. You called her back and that’s when she told you. Then you passed out. You’ve been mostly just sleeping the past couple of days. That’s probably why you don’t remember much and think it was a dream. You are going today to make all the funeral arrangements and I’m going with you.”
“FUCK YOU!!” I scream and then I start to cry. I stand there sobbing with my head and shoulders slumped. After a while he puts his arm around me.
“Come on man, let’s go do this work.”
It was a dream. It was all a bad dream. I must have watched a fucked up movie this week. Or maybe ate something weird before I went to bed last night. I should get up. Maybe I’ll give them a call. What day is it? Maybe the concert hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I dreamed that too. I should go see what day it is. Maybe I have class today. It might be a weekday. I’ll go check. In a minute. I do have to piss though. OK, I’ll get up.
I got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. I could hear the TV on and then my roommate moving around. When I came out of the bathroom, he startled me, because he was right there in the hallway.
“Ah! Hey, what’s up? What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty. How…how are you?”
“Good. I had some fucked up dreams, but I got a lot of sleep. How are you?”
“Um…I’m fine. Listen…”
“Hey, what day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? Well I guess I’m not going to class then, haha. How come you’re not in class?”
“I told you I’d go with you.”
“Go? Do I have something today? Let me check my planner.”
I run into my room and quickly fish through my bag. When I find my planner, I flip through to this month. By this time my roommate is standing in my doorway.
“Oh, his wake is today. I must’ve dreamed going to that too. You’re coming to the wake with me?”
“No…well yeah, but today we’re going to make the arrangements.”
“Oh no, his family took care of that all ready. I do want to go to his wake though, and that’s cool that you’re coming.”
“What? No, that was last week.”
“No, today. Look, you said it’s Wednesday, here it is in my planner, “wake”.”
“That’s last week. This is today. We’re going to…”
“No, because here’s where my Wind Ensemble concert is and that’s this coming Sunday…”
“No, that was last Sunday.”
“No, that was a dream, which means the concert didn’t happen yet, which means that it is this coming Sunday!”
“You really don’t know what we’re doing today do you?”
“Yes it’s right here: the wake!”
“Tim…we’re going to make funeral arrangements…”
“I told you, his family is doing them.”
“For your family!”
“Fuck you! That’s not fuckin’ cool! How would you like it if after you got up, all disoriented from a nightmare, I tried to trick you into thinking your family was dead and that it was one week into the future!?”
“I’m not trying to trick you. You must’ve blocked it out or something…”
“IT. WAS. A. DREAM!!”
“Tim, it wasn’t.”
“Oh yeah, then how did they die?”
“…The house burned down with everyone in it.”
“…”
“You came home Sunday, after your Wind Ensemble concert and said that they didn’t show up. There was a message from your Grandmother on the answering machine. You called her back and that’s when she told you. Then you passed out. You’ve been mostly just sleeping the past couple of days. That’s probably why you don’t remember much and think it was a dream. You are going today to make all the funeral arrangements and I’m going with you.”
“FUCK YOU!!” I scream and then I start to cry. I stand there sobbing with my head and shoulders slumped. After a while he puts his arm around me.
“Come on man, let’s go do this work.”
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