~Nightly Havok~
He walked along the busy streets of Queens, New York rapidly. Even in the late, moon bathed evening there were many people still out, doing
who knows what. He had his left hand stuck in his army green jacket pocket, fingering a newly earned 100$ bill. He had hoped for more, but the
person who had paid him was cheap, and wouldn't give away a dollar, unless his life depended on it. Which, so far, hadn't occurred yet. He could
have crowned that guy Ebenezer Scrooge, and nobody would know the difference, let alone complain.
He lifted his head as he heard the murmurs coming from a crowd which he was approaching; he hated crowds with a passion, but was still curious to see what all the fuss was about. His already rapid walking started to quicken when he heard some voices from the crowd-- "Shot...old man..."
His stomach did not only a leap, but a back sprint and a cartwheel following. No, it couldn't be...wouldn't be...could it? Would it? It shouldn't. He was just being paranoid, how could that happen..?
He walked up into the crowd, and started to push by in the crowd to see what was happening. He squinted his eyes as he neared, and opened them fully when some police officers tried to push him back. He could have easily knocked them down, but thought better of it.
He wished he didn't when he was almost inside the heart of the crowd, which was actually a big circle. His vivid blue eyes widened in horror when he saw an old man on the ground, with officers surrounding him, bleeding. "H-hey that my uncle!" he shouted out in a slightly choked voice, when he heard a female officer try to reason with him to stand back.
Taken aback, the female officer flinched, letting him go by, and to the side of his injured uncle. He touched the old man's hand gingerly, and pulled it back quickly. "W-what happened?!" he demanded.
"Car jacker, he's been shot." The female officer answered simply in a bit of a sympathetic tone, as another officer placed a folded coat underneath the old man's head.
Oh, no, it...it can't be! No! How, why..? he thought desperately, now clinging onto the old man's wrinkled hand. In desperation, he pleaded in a soft voice, "Uncle Ben?" No answer. "Uncle Ben."
Uncle Ben's eyes cracked open a little at his call, his eyes watery with pain and agony. He glanced at him, and smiled a little in relief. "P-peter." he choked out in a rasped voice.
I'm right here, Uncle Ben Peter wanted to comfort his 68 year old uncle with those words, but found he was at a lose for then. Oh, please don't die, please don't die, I need you..
"P-p-peter." Uncle Ben stated again, this time in a much more strained voice. Peter grasped onto his hand harder, now on the brink of tears. Come on, stay with me now...
Uncle Ben smile started to fade a little, as his old pained eyes slid shut for the last time. His face lost expression, and his grip on his nephew's hand loosened. He was gone, gone into the world where it is bliss, but at the same time, lonely without your loved ones.
Peter realized this as soon as the old man's grip loosened. He tried gripping onto it tighter to revive him, but to no avail. He couldn't hold it back, didn't want to; he broke down in a fit of sobs, as tears streaked his cheeks, which were now red with anxiety. He shut his eyes, as he continued to let out broken sobs of sorrow. Oh my god, he didn't make it...no, Uncle Ben...!
A call from the now distant reality brought Peter back into the world of the living(no pun intended), "They've got the shooter! He's headed for south on Fifth Avenue!"
Murmurs engulfed the crowd, almost clouding out the distant sirens of an ambulance. Peter suddenly went silent, determination and pure rage streaking his face. No, 'they' won't get him. I will. He stood up with a new light, a goal in mind--
Peter fell out of his bed with a sharp gasp, and landed hard on his butt with a soft thud. Still partly asleep, he groaned as he feebly reached in blind darkness for the soft bed
he so desperately wanted to get back on. He climbed onto the bed, and ran his fingers through his now messy brown hair.
Cold sweat was streaking down his race like horses running on a race track.
Peter gained a puzzled expression; why would he be sweating so much? He then remembered-- a dream. A now very distant dream, the rude wake up call probably knocking it back into his subconscious, along with the rest of his lost memory. He sighed to himself in self pity, trying hard to remember the dream. He couldn't.
But whatever it was, he knew deep down, that it was very important. Which is what scared Peter that most.
Miles away from Peter and his troubled sleep, a four year old boy named Jason had also woke up in his bed in the middle of the night. He sniffed, remembering the nightmare he had
just had, about a monster under his bed attacking him.
His almost unnatural looking amethyst eyes closed, as he started to cry a little. Suddenly, he heard something coming from his window. He stifled a gasp, and brought his Superman quilt closer to him. He heard it again, this time it was closer. Gathering breath, he screamed out at the top of his lungs, his short ebony hair flailing around, "Mommy!!"
Almost immediately, a hall light flickered on outside of the boy's room. His door burst open, a figure flicking on the light, illuminating the entire area. "What's wrong, Jason?" his mother asked, concerned.
"I had a nightmare," Jason sniffed. "And I think there's a monster outside!"
His mother's expression softened. She went by his side and crouched down onto her knees. She brushed her fingers through his hair, and said soothingly, "It's alright, Jason. There's nothing to be afraid of. Here, I'll show you." She got up from her son's side, and walked over to his blue framed window. She opened it up, letting a burst of wind come through it. She shivered a bit, then stuck her head out. She looked around outside into the inky black darkness. Nothing. She looked back at Jason with a smile. "See, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just the wind."
"Not quite."
Jason's mother gasped when she heard the new voice, and looked up, eyes widened in horror. She screamed, as she witnessed the villain, Bladefly, sitting in a tree, grinning evilly ear to ear. He took a shuriken(A/N:thanks LAXgirl! ^_^) from his belt, and set it aflame with his flame-throwing wrists. He threw it almost immediately, shouting out in evil glee, "Catch!" it went right through the open window; Jason's mother yelped as she barely dodged it, but hitting her head on the window in the process, rubbing her head and winced in pain.
"Mommy!!"
Jason's mother turned around, and her lime green eyes widened in horror to see the room now aflame. Her son was screaming at the top of his lungs, scrambling to get out of bed and out of the room. "Jason!" she shouted out, running for her son. She scooped him up, coughing as she started to breath in the toxic smoke. She tried to protect him by burying his face into her shoulder, as she fumbled for the door to get out of there. She squinted her eyes closed, just as Bladefly threw in what looked like a pumpkin bomb through the window. It set off, just as Jason's mother made her way out the bedroom door. She was pushed forward by a force of gravity, as another brightly coloured and deadly explosion came from the room..
Just as the explosions of bright, almost neon red orange and hot yellow started, the house also went up in flames, and the figure of Bladefly jumping agiliy and with great speed from tree to
tree away from the house was seen to those who were on the streets.
"Tragedy strikes uptown New York City much earlier this morning," started the newscaster, Janice Smith, on MSNBC, "A random house on Fifth Avenue was caught ablaze by a mysterious explosion.
Inside the house, were Mrs. Cotton and her son. The two are in critical, but stable condition at St. Patrick's hospital. This may just seem like some gang causing trouble, but this thing has
happened before.
"Almost two weeks ago, Gray Law Office in downtown NYC was also caught in an explosion, causing many injuries to the workers there, four deaths, and even the disappearance of NYC's own superhero, Spider-man. Five days later, there was another explosion, this time at a Staples building. All have one thing in common- the explosions only effected the inside of the buildings, and everything else around it were safe.
"The FBI are studying this case day and night, believing that these explosions have to do with either terrorist attacks, or Spider-man's doing, thus his disappearance, though it hasn't been confirmed."
Janice was about to start a new topic, when a man from the side handed her a new sheet of paper. She quickly glanced it over, then stated, "This just in-- a video tape has been recovered for the explosion of the Cottons' house. We will play it now."
The TV screen switched from the face of Janice to a different scene; on the streets of NYC, right in front of the Cottons' house. In the background, the filmer was talking, when suddenly, you could hear a scream. The filmer became silent, and a figure clad in gray and purple, jumped away from the house steathily, but could still be caught on tape. A few moments later, the explosions started. The filmer screamed in surprise and terror, and started to curse in a string of colourful words in all kinds of languages, Spanish, French, and English, which was blocked out by many well placed BEEPs. Then, the video was switched off, and went back to Janice.
Janice was actually staring in shock at what she had just seen, blinking her cinnamon brown eyes continuously. She shook her head, and managed to stutter out, "...A-and so it appears, that we have just spotted who was behind all of the explosions, though we are unable to identify him..." she trailed off, then proclaimed, "...But he, or she, is obviously not Spider-man. But if it isn't...then where can Spider-man be?"
May turned the TV in the living room on mute, as Janice said her last line on MSNBC. May shook her head; those poor people. It was just like that terrible Green Goblin all over again. She sympathized for the family,
since she knew what it was like to be attacked in her own home. She had been put in the hospital for a week because of it.
May shuddered, remembering what had happened during the attack, and after the attack. When she thought about her time in the hospital, the painful memory of Peter's amnesia came to the surface of her mind, making her feel sadder than before. She was knocked out of her train of thought by the sound of approaching footsteps just upstairs, and the old floor boards creaking a bit. She turned her head around, just into time to hear a loud THUMP, followed by a sharp cry of pain, obviously from Peter, the only other person in the house. May was about to get up and help Peter with whatever had happened, when she heard the sound of floor boards resume creaking, as Peter continued to make his way down the hall upstairs. Hearing that her nephew was fine, she continued to sit on the couch, but called out, just in case, "Peter? Are you alright?"
A grunt from Peter came the reply, as he started to walk down the stairs. He was rubbing his cheek gingerly, when he stated, "Aunt May, why does there have to be so many stupid doors in this house? I just banged into one walkin' down the hall.."
May held back a small laugh, but at the same time felt concerned for her nephew. "Weren't you able to see them, though?"
"The lights were off." Peter said simply. "I wasn't expecting a wall to be right in front of my room."
"I guess you'll have to remember to turn on the lights next time then,"
Peter nodded, and sat down on the pine green plush couch next to May's baby blue one-person couch. A pause, and then Peter asked his aunt curiously, "Did I...always bump into walls before or something? Or, at least leave the lights off then get a tour of the wall?"
May's eyebrows furrowed, "Once, when you were four. You were still getting used to the house at the time then, too."
"What do you mean, 'I was still getting you used to the house'?"
May's eyebrows raised up, as she looked downwards. "Your parents died when you were four. You had to move in with me and Uncle Ben."
Peter let in a small surprised gasp, as he eyes widened in disbelief. "My parents are...dead? I have an Uncle Ben? Is...he dead too?"
May nodded grimly. "Your parents died in an airplane crash. And your Uncle was shot by a car jacker."
Peter slowly slid his eyes shut in grief, but at the same time in deep thought. That dream...
...He saw an old man on the ground, with officers surrounding him, bleeding. "H-hey that my uncle!" he shouted out in a slightly choked voice, when he heard a female officer try to reason with him to stand back.
Taken aback, the female officer flinched, letting him go by, and to the side of his injured uncle. He touched the old man's hand gingerly, and pulled it back quickly. "W-what happened?!" he demanded.
"Car jacker, he's been shot." The female officer answered simply in a bit of a sympathetic tone, as another officer placed a folded coat underneath the old man's head.
Oh, no, it...it can't be! No! How, why..? he thought desperately, now clinging onto the old man's wrinkled hand. In desperation, he pleaded in a soft voice, "Uncle Ben?" No answer. "Uncle Ben."
Uncle Ben's eyes cracked open a little at his call, his eyes watery with pain and agony. He glanced at him, and smiled a little in relief. "P-peter." he choked out in a rasped voice...
"Peter, are you alright?" The fleeting memory/dream got knocked back into the distance of his subconscious, as May called out to Peter. Peter opened his eyes again, and mumbled, "Ya, I'm fine." He paused in reflection for a moment, then asked quietly, "What did Uncle Ben...look like, Aunt May?"
May's blue eyes softened for a moment, as she stood up. "I'll show you a picture of him, Peter," She walked away into the powder blue kitchen for a minute, leaving Peter alone. His eyes were caught by the TV, as Janice was talking in a panic, but looked like she was lip-syncing since the TV was on mute. Peter picked up the steel gray remote control from the dark tree bark brown coffee table idly, and took the TV off mute. Instantly Janice's words came to life-
"--As seen just a bit earlier, we are about to show the recently developed footage of a video tape from last night's attack on the Cottons' house.." Janice said slowly, trying hard to gulp down the panic in the back of her throat.
The TV's reflection glowed on Peter's deep blue eyes; the calmness, the blazing fire, and the mysterious running man...
Peter gritted his teeth in unknown and uncontrollable anger, and he clenched his fists into tight balls. Why...would someone do such a thing? he thought angrily. ...HOW could someone do such a thing??
Peter felt May's reassuring and warm touch to his shoulder, spinning around just before it happened. He somehow knew that would happen, before it happened, but took no notice to it. May showered Peter with a small sad smile, and said, "It's hard to believe what people do in this world." She sighed and shook her head a little, then showed Peter a framed picture.
It made Peter join in with May's sad smile, seeing the three of them(Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and himself) all together, dressed up as they would for church. They all bared a broad smile on each of their faces, and what surprised Peter a lot, was that he was wearing glasses. Funny, he didn't wear them now..
Peter shook his head, then looked back at the old man in the photo. He did seem somewhat familiar, and not just because of his dream. He touched the photo gently with his fingertips, then whispered, "We seemed happy. I...wish to know what that was like, to remember being...like that,"
May's small smile faded as she gave her amnesiac nephew a comforting hug, "I wish you could too, Peter. They were such good times. But soon, this amnesia will pass, and your memory will return. But in the meantime, we just have to...be patient,"
"Was I ever patient?"
"...Not especially, but at some points."
"Well, I guess I'm still not a very patient person."
Do you ever fill the world passing by you?
You're stuck in a cage, with no idea who
You are,
Or what you are?
Do you ever feel that there is a greater thing in store
for you, without the blood and gore?
Maybe it's time to be released from your cage,
But first you must turn the page,
And try to ignore your rage.
Who are you?
...I have no clue.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~To Be Continued...~
A/N: Ie-ya! Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out! It may also still seem slow, but the next chapter will improve. Probably not at first, but at some
point during the chapter! ^_^ So please review!
BTW-
It's my birthday!! Yay! *throws confetti* :p