AFTERMATH
29th November 2002
Ursula Ditkovich sat in front of the television, a pen posed over a small purple book in her lap. It was November 30th, it was cold enough to snow, and the city was alive with fear or wonder or panic or something.
But she wasn't out in the city. She was inside. She had been inside for hours, ever since the hostage situation had come up- she had turned on the TV to see what was going on, and stayed there. She could have ran outside, hailed a cab, gone to the bridge- but she hadn't. She had been too...
...afraid. Although she hated to admit it. Or hated to admit it out loud.
I was afraid, she wrote in her diary. Sort of. Just because lots of people were in trouble, and lots of people could have died, and they probably would have done if Spider-Man hadn't saved them. Anyway. It's all over now.
She stared distractedly out of the window.
Diary. I really wish something would happen to me. Something big and exciting and important. I don't know what, but I want it so bad. It's like I'm staring at the television screen and it's all in there instead. All of the important stuff is hiding in there. None of it feels real. I mean...actually, no.
Either it doesn't feel real, or I don't.
She sighed. She was just having a brief moment of unhappiness- she knew it would pass. But the moments, they always caught her at inconvenient times. Like when an armoured madman had taken a cable car hostage and fought with Spider-Man above the Queensboro bridge.
She resumed writing.
No, wait. I...don't know. Let's leave it at that. I just wish I had gone to the bridge, seen it for myself. The TV said people were throwing stuff at the Green Goblin, and I wish I'd done that, too. But I didn't, and I guess that's the end of it.
She reached out and switched the television off. The room went very quiet.
I wouldn't, would I? If it happened again. I'd just stay here.
I don't...you know...I've got no faith in myself anymore.