I Need a Hero
A/N: I'm going to loosely base the death of Gwen Stacy on the comics, but instead of Green Goblin being the villain, I'm going to base it on the movie verse and say it was the Lizard.
Prologue
Zoe's POV
"Watch it loser!"
Ah, yes the three words that started and ended my day oh-so-perfectly.
A hard shove and a very clumsy Zoe Anderson (moi) came crashing down onto Midtown Science High School's hard and dirty linoleum floor. My glasses fell off of my porcelain face. My hazel eyes widened in shock before my tangled, dark black hair covered my eyes. My baggy sweatshirt and jeans hung to my body for a second, before becoming baggy again.
"Move, loser," Flash Thompson sneered at the nerd. Or was I a geek? Or a nerd? Whatever the lonelier and more pathetic matched my persona perfectly.
"Sorry Flash," I mumbled.
"Did I give you permission to talk me to, nerd?" He questioned, taking steps forward, invading my personal space. I backed up and flinched as I backed into a set of lockets. A crowd began to form around us.
"N-no," I stuttered.
Flash smirked before slamming his hands both to the sides of me. I screamed and cowered, covering my face with my books. He leaned forward and whispered, "Nerd." Then he wrapped his meaty hands around my throat. I gasped a deep breathe, before he slammed my head into a locker.
Flash turned and saw a figure weaving its way into the crowd. He grinned. "Hey Parker, take a picture of this!"
"Flash, just leave her alone," the voice called. I finally looked up and saw a messy haired brunette with a camera in his hands. I realized he was Peter Parker, the school's photographer. He seemed out of place in the crowd of teenagers. His warm brown eyes locked with my hazel ones, making me feel a weird mixture of euphoria and warmth.
"Yeah, Parker? And who's going to make me? Your girlfriend Gwen?" Flash taunted.
I winced as Peter's eyes darkened. Everyone knew not to mention Gwen Stacy around Peter Parker, unless you wanted to die. A few months ago, the Lizard was terrorizing the city (as usual) and had Gwen captive. When the Lizard dropped Gwen, Spider-man shot a web to cushion her fall. Good new; she landed in the net. Bad news; the impact was too strong at the rate she was falling and immediate interruption (the web) snapped her neck. She died on impact. Whilst everyone mourned for her death, Peter didn't attend the funeral, nor school for a full month. Spider-man also mourned for her death. He didn't fight crime for two full months. And as the effect, the crime rate in New York raised fifty percent. It wasn't after the mayor and governor both pleaded for him to come back, that he returned. He did, but his performance was lackluster. Probably the threats he still got from some citizens. Many still blame Spider-man for the death of Gwen Stacy. I don't, but I think he does too.
"Flash, just leave her alone," Peter quietly stated, walking away.
Flash smirked before increasing the grip on my throat. I started to see black spots as I gasped involuntarily for air.
"P-please," I moaned. Didn't Flash have any humanity? My lack of oxygen was severely increasing as my body went slack. One more second and I'd be dead—
A swift move and I couldn't feel Flash's meaty hands around my throat, constricting my air supply.
I slumped to the ground and watched as Peter slammed Flash into a nearby locker.
"Cut it out Flash," Peter said; his voice razor sharp. "Do you think this is cool? Terrorizing random classmates until they break? Do you think it is fun to see a girl whimper and coward when you stalk towards them? What would Gwen say?" Peter released Flash and calmly walked off, leaving everyone staring at him. As Flash removed him from the lockers, a huge dent was carved into the metal. I held back a chuckle. Peter looked stronger than he was. Flash glared at everyone before disappearing down the hall. I picked myself up and continued my journey outside the school. I ran home to gather my materials for ballet class. I only joined ballet for three reasons: one, I've been doing ballet since I was three. Two, ballerinas were graceful and I wanted to be graceful. Three, my mom would be proud of me.
Speaking of my mom, she left a note on the fridge.
'Late hours at work. Make yourself a salad; don't wait up.'
I sighed. Of course. My mom recently got a job at OSCORP and took over Dr. Curt Connors' job as director and hence the long hours at work. My mom was a scientist from Africa. She met my dad, another scientist, on a trip for the best scientists in the world. He was American, but he was smitten with my mom. After the two year trip, my father and my mom moved to America, where they got married and had me. I received my father's porcelain skin, my mom's dark hair, and my father's hazel orbs. Then, one night when I was 6, my father disappeared and left my mom and me. He died in a plane crash. My mom didn't act shocked or surprised. She never cried, nor got upset. I was a mess, crying whenever I thought of him, which was often. It was a mystery to why she didn't appear upset.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when my cell phone rang. I checked it and my alarm reminded me that my ballet class began in 30 minutes. I changed into my black leotard, pink tights, and black shrug. I packed my en pointe shoes and tutu into my bag. I wrestled with my tangled hair and finally tied it into a braided bun. I inserted my contacts and left my glasses in my room. I ignored the news, which was playing in the background. I ran out the door, ignoring the breaking news on the TV. But little did I know that announcement would change my life forever.
As I walked to my ballet class, I prepared myself for three hours of insults, mostly from the other ballerinas. They were all tall and rail thin. I was short and curvy. A 5'1 statue was not an ideal ballerina. Their size 2 bodies were perfect for ballet. They turned perfect pirouettes, whilst I fumbled because of my clumsy nature. Though I was the best in my class on en pointe, my clumsiness overshadowed that achievement. Oh well, my gracefulness shall come one day.
.-.-
After three hours of dancing and insults, I left the studio feeling defeated. Most of the afternoon was spent on pirouettes, fouetté en tournant, grand jetés, splits, and turn outs. All of which I fell on. I limped my way home, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my toes and feet. I remembered some of the insults Madame Viola and the other ballerinas gave me. I was so engrossed in my thoughts; I didn't notice a group of men following me. It wasn't until a knife was pressed against my throat, I was thrown into an alley, and my body against a hard wall that I realized I was about to get jumped.
"Look what we have here, boys," A man with a dirty face, unshaven face, and rotten teeth grinned at me. I turned away, but the man dug the knife deeper into my skin. I cried out in pain. "A poor, little ballerina. Such a beautiful girl, so lonely," He caressed my face with a dirty finger. I resisted the urge to turn away, but the knife on my neck begged to differ.
"Please, leave me alone!" I begged. Great, harassed twice in a day!
The man grinned before drawing the knife back, prepared to stab me. I closed my eyes and waited for impact. Except it never came; I peeked my eyes open and saw a figure in red and blue fighting the men than were following me. I closed my eyes, never believing it. I was being jumped by a gang and saved by Spider-man. I heard the something whoosh in front of me. I opened my eyes and screamed. Spider-man's beady eyes were right in front of me, studying me. He was in a protective crouch, his head cocked.