Peter could hear the sirens nearing the broken clock tower. He was still holding Gwen's lifeless body in his arms. Gently, he laid her on the cold, hard, unforgiving floor and wiped the tears away from his face and put his mask back on. He had to pull himself together before the police saw them. Carefully he lifted her off the ground as he stood up. Slowly he began to walk out toward the towers exit, while he carried the love of his life close to his aching heart.

When the police saw Spider-Man carrying the body of Gwen Stacy, many were confused of why. Spider-Man saved everyone. Didn't he?

Lieutenant Williams stepped forward and slowly approached the hero. "What happened?" he asked, calmly.

"Harry Osborn," Spider-Man replied, as he bent down and placed Gwen on the ground. "He's still inside. I was too slow."

He then stood and shot some webbing from his web-shooters and swung away into the dead of night.


Peter entered his room and locked the door. He didn't want to be disturbed. He had to wait for Gwen's mother to call and deliver the terrible news he already knew. He was the cause of it. Gwen Stacy died because of him. People would tell him that it wasn't, but he knew better.

Peter open his closet door and ripped off his Spider-Man outfit. He threw it into the back of the closet and slammed the door, harder than he should have. But he didn't care. He was through being Spider-Man. Being Spider-Man was why Gwen was dead.

If he had never found that stupid briefcase, he's curiosity never would have been peaked. He never would have gone to OsCorp. He never would of been bitten by that damn spider. Uncle Ben would still be here. Captain George Stacy would still be here. Gwen Stacy, his everything, would still be here.


After the funeral, Peter stayed and stared at the fresh grave, the fresh flowers, the brand new grave stone that he Gwen's name etched in it. The bright sun shone in his eyes. He hated it. What right did the sun have to shine so brightly after what he caused? It should be dark, dreary and unpleasant.

Peter stood in front of the grave until darkness cover the sky. He no idea how long he stood there. He didn't care. He wanted to stay longer, but he couldn't. If he didn't leave soon, he would be chased out. Those who worked in the graveyard at night had no sympathy for those who just the love of their life.


Every day, Peter would go and stand in front of Gwen's grave. Once or twice every couple of weeks, the remaining Stacy's would come and visit her. Mrs. Stacy would exchange a couple of words with him or invite him to have lunch with them. He would always decline.

As time went on, New Yorkers were beginning to wondered where Spider-Man. The police officers who saw him that horrible night, where the last to see him and weren't discussing. It was as if they were in way sharing his pain by keeping their mouths shut.

Crime seemed to increase, because once the thugs got word that Spider-Man wasn't around, they came out of hiding and began terrorizing innocent people on the streets.


As the days and weeks turned into months, Peter continued to visit her. Some days he would sit, others he would stand. But he never talked to her. How could he? She would never respond.

When he wasn't visiting her, he would sit in his darkened bedroom and fiddle with the thumb drive that contained Gwen's speech. The speech that his missed. The speech that he never heard.

He never put it in his computer, even though he wanted to her voice so badly. His guilt wouldn't let him do it.


One day when the news was discussing Spider-Man, again, Peter got up from the kitchen table to leave, when Aunt May stopped him. She spoke of how heavier each box of Uncle Ben's stuff got the lighter she felt. She suggested that he do the same with everything that was weighing him down

Peter walked into his room and began tossing everything into a couple of boxes. He only stopped long enough to put the thumb drive into his computer and press play.

As he listened he put more and more stuff in the boxes. Hearing Gwen's speech and her beautiful voice made him feel better. Better than he had in the many months since her death.

When the speech was done, he put the thumb drive into one of the boxes and carried it downstairs to the basement. As he was walking back upstairs he heard the news talking about a metal rhino terrorizing the streets of New York.

Peter ran upstairs to his room and opened his closet door. Laying on the floor in the far back, collecting dust was his Spider-Man outfit.

He quickly got it out. He was about to put on, when his mind flashbacked to the night he last wore it. Memories flooded over him as he blindly removed his t-shirt and pants.

By the time he shook himself out of the memory, he was already out of his window and swinging through the air.