[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/QLPeQ5j.png?1[/img][/center] [i]She's falling. Everything I've ever feared is happening all at once. I'm bleeding from a hundred different places, fiery pain overwhelming my senses as broken bones scrape against each other. I can hear his laughter, mocking me as I dive after her towards the pitch black depths below. She's falling. Her eyes, those perfect hypnotically blue eyes, are wide and bloodshot with terror, tears glittering in the moonlight as they hang suspended in split-seconds that feel like hours. Her mouth is wide open, but she's still too shocked to scream. Her hand reaches out, vainly clawing at the air in the hopes that my hand will grab hers like it has so many times before. I'm too slow. She's too far. I'm not going to make it. God, please, [b]don't let this happen.[/b] As the water rushes up to meet her, I throw out a last, desperate lifeline. The shock and horror in her eyes melts away, giving way to relief and trust, and her lips begin to pull upward into a smile. I've got her. I've saved her. Everything's going to be-- [b]SNAP.[/b][/i] [color=Black]....[/color] [color=Black]....[/color] [color=Black]....[/color] ........I wake up, jolting out of bed in a cold sweat. My heart is pounding like a machine gun, and I'm breathing in ragged gasps like I've been running a marathon. My eyes dart back and forth across the room until I realize where I am, before I flop back down onto the bed with a groan. I've been having this same nightmare for a year now. Or rather, I've been living it. Every night, I'm back on that bridge, trying again and again to save her. And every time I wake up, I'm reminded that I failed. Growing up, I didn't have many friends-- being the smart kid in class didn't exactly come with the honors and prestige one might hope for. There was Harry, of course, but we were never really equals-- in grade school I was practically his tutor, then he spent junior high in some boarding school in England, and when he came back he was virtually a different person, a slick alpha-male happy to take his old pal Pete under his wing for a change. And there was Eddie, but there was always an under-current of resentment there, and we always found ourselves competing over the same things: the spot in the science fair, the photographer gig at the school paper, the girl we both liked-- hell, he even took my old job at the [i]Daily Bugle[/i] after I quit last year. And then there was Gwen. Gwen Stacy was always brilliant, and not just in her intelligence (which, incidentally, often made me look dim by comparison). She was the most kind-hearted person I've ever met, the only one in our little nerd-herd who had the spine to stand up to the Flash Thompsons and Sally Avrils of the world, and had worked her butt off to get scholarship offers that would give her a better future than anyone I knew whose parents weren't already billionaires. She was there for me when Uncle Ben died. She figured out what I'd been doing all those times I'd run off and suddenly Spider-Man would show up and clobber some bad guy, and she helped keep my secret. She always knew how to lift up my spirits when things were getting tough, whether it was in my failing social life or my double-life as a neighborhood superhero. For as long as I can remember, she'd been my best friend. It wasn't until the end of our junior year that she blindsided me with our first kiss. It was another week before I worked up the nerve to return the favor. Both of us were kind of stunned, not just by the fact that we'd had feelings for each other, but by realizing how long we'd had them and how deeply they ran. The next year was bliss, even as school life got harder and the villains got more dangerous-- I knew no matter how tough things got, she'd be there to give me the strength to keep going. I loved her more than anything else in the world. And that's exactly why she's gone now. [color=LimeGreen]"Pete? You up?"[/color] I blink a few times, realizing I've been pacing listlessly around my room for nearly a solid minute. Shaking my head to bring me back to the real world for a bit, I answer. [color=Red]"Yeah, I'm up."[/color] [color=LimeGreen]"Cool,"[/color] says Harry from the main room. [color=LimeGreen]"I'm heading down to Katz's for lunch, meeting up with MJ. You wanna come with?"[/color] Mary Jane Watson transferred to Midtown halfway through our sophomore year, and because her aunt and my aunt were old friends, they conspired to hook us up on a blind date. I spent the whole night positive I was walking into some kind of trap-- I mean, this fiery, free-spirited, drop-dead gorgeous girl was going to the homecoming dance with [i]me[/i]? It was too good to be true. But the punchline never came-- MJ really did go out of her way to make sure we had a great time that night, and while we left it at that one date, she stayed friends with our weird little clique for reasons that are beyond me, because frankly she was far too cool for any of us. She's been around the apartment a lot for the past couple of months, hanging out with Harry, occasionally knocking on my door to see if I wanted to come out and be sociable. I don't think I'm really ready to be around those two getting cozy with each other. [color=Red]"Ehh, you go on ahead, man,"[/color] I say, giving a half-hearted glance at the pile of notebooks on my desk. [color=Red]"I've, erm, I've got some studying to do for Dr. Warren's class on Monday."[/color] [color=LimeGreen]"Lemme rephrase it,"[/color] Harry says, taking a sterner tone. [color=LimeGreen]"You're coming to get some lunch with me and hang out with our friend. That is no longer a request, Pete, that's an order. Understood?"[/color] For a moment I tense up, as I recognize the tone and cadence he's using-- it's the sort of thing his father would say to him. I know he means well, but anything that reminds me of Norman Osborn makes my blood boil. [color=LimeGreen]"Besides, it'd be a nice change of pace to see you out in the sunlight,"[/color] he adds, relaxing a bit. [color=LimeGreen]"Everyone's starting to think you're a vampire. I'm gonna start telling everyone you sparkle."[/color] [color=Red]"You wouldn't dare,"[/color] I say, unable to resist a wisecrack. [color=LimeGreen]"Last chance, Pete,"[/color] he says. [color=LimeGreen]"Then I'm bringing out the big guns. You've got to the count of three to open that door, or I'm calling Aunt May. One....."[/color] [color=Red]"Okay, okay, I'm coming,"[/color] I say, opening the door and no doubt filling the apartment with a whiff of old laundry and B.O. [color=Red]"Just....lemme take a quick shower or something first, all right?"[/color] [hr] [i]The Daily Bugle Flatiron Building, 175 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan[/i] [color=Olive]"Miss Brant?"[/color] [color=Magenta][i]"Yes, Mr. Jameson?"[/i][/color] [color=Olive]"Why is there an angry teenager in my office staring at me like I owe him something?"[/color] [color=Magenta][i]"That's Eddie Brock, sir. Your photographer? The one who--"[/i][/color] [color=Olive]"I know who he is, Miss Brant. I'm asking why you let him through when he looks like he's about to start throwing punches."[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"How can you even think of running this story?"[/color] Eddie Brock demanded, a printed out sheaf of copy crumpled up in his fist. [color=SlateBlue]"This is insane!"[/color] [color=Olive]"Answered your own question there, didn't you?"[/color] J. Jonah Jameson said, staring down the beligerent youth huffing and puffing in front of him. [color=Olive]"This sort of thing is what gets people's attention, it's what sells papers, which means it keeps the both of us gainfully employed! You should be thanking me for even considering it!"[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"[i]Thanking[/i] you?! She was my friend! She was--....and now someone anonymous weirdo sends the Bugle staff some pictures and you're just going to run with it?! We don't even know who this 'Sin-Eater' guy is, or why he's doing this, and now--"[/color] [color=Olive]"Look, I get that you're mad about this,"[/color] Jameson said, barely even trying to take a conciliatory tone. [color=Olive]"But a story's a story, even if it's one you don't like. I'm sorry this ruins the image of your friend, but we can't pick and choose which stories to run just because we're attached to the people in them."[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"It's not just her,"[/color] Eddie responded. [color=SlateBlue]"It's Pete. If he sees this, it.....it'll crush him, sir. Considering the state he's in, it might kill him."[/color] [color=Olive]"Parker?"[/color] Jameson asked, a raised eyebrow. He considered Eddie's words for a moment, then sneered. [color=Olive]"Parker's a quitter. You oughta know; you got his old job because of it."[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"Hey, that's--"[/color] [color=Olive]"[i]BUT,[/i] that doesn't mean he's not a good kid,"[/color] Jameson interrupted. [color=Olive]"Tell you what. I'll give you twenty-four hours, let you break it to him easy. [i]Then[/i] we run the story. Sound fair?"[/color] [color=SlateBlue]".....about as fair as I'm gonna get,"[/color] Eddie said bitterly. [color=Olive]"That's life, kid,"[/color] Jameson said, not even acknowledging the hateful glare from the young reporter. [color=Olive]"You're Parker's friend, you make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Now if you don't mind, I've got a paper to keep in business."[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"....yeah...."[/color] [color=Olive]" 'Yeah,' [i]what[/i]?"[/color] [color=SlateBlue]"....yes, [i]sir.[/i]"[/color] [color=Olive]"That's better."[/color]