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"What happened?"
I whisper as I look at a body hidden in a dark alley. I cannot move a muscle. Almost like I have suddenly grown rooted in the concrete.
The figure beneath my feet is submerged in the crimson sea of sticky blood.
It's not flowing anymore.
It starts to clot and mix with the evening's drizzle.
Limbs are grotesquely contorted and twisted. They remind me of a broken tree I saw earlier. Just without the lively green.
The silhouette is covered in wounds.
"That explains the blood"
I catch myself thinking. I should call for help, but I cannot shift my eyes from it. It's like finally finding the thing which had been missing for years.
The more I watch, the more I find myself intrigued.
Captivated by the mesmerizing yet monstrous scene.
I want to know more.
“Who is this?”
The person looks familiar. Too familiar.
Like an old friend from school, a past confidant of the deepest secrets and whispers.
I look at the face.
It seems young. Time had not yet corrupted it.
The eyes are big and partially closed. They are clouded and dulled with remains of the agony. I wonder how they looked when still filled with the lively spark.
The head is a mop of brown curls. Now stained and tangled up by the pervasive velvet redness.
The frame of the man is well built.
"He must have kept in shape"
Then I see it.
The ragged pieces of clothing are still sticking to the corpse.
I know that pattern...
I've made it myself...
I've worn it myself...
Every day, week to week.
I've been swinging through the busy streets in it...
I start to tremble.
My breaths come out as short gasps.
"No..."
My eyes land on a puddle in the corner.
I force my brassbound legs to move. It feels like eternity.
The reflection in the puddle freezes the blood in my veins. I trace my own features; the same jawline, the same tangled curls, the same hollow eyes.
I look just as dead as the shape on the concrete.
"W-What... n-no no..."
"I-It can't b-be me.. it c-can't right?"
A little laugh escapes my constricted throat.
"It's all just a dream. A dream. Yes. I'm going to wake up in a second"
I back away from the puddle.
I reach my hand to pinch myself and then my chuckle dies.
My hands are translucent. I can see the body through them.
I slowly look at my own body. What I see makes me freeze.
It is just as red as the one on the concrete.
Then it hits me. A cold, heavy dread anchored itself in my chest as the truth finally clicked.
My hands tremble again. More violently now.
I shake as hard as a leaf in the merciless wind.
The one lying here is not some stranger.
It is me.
It is me who has lost the battle with fate today.
It is too much. Too much.
“No… no… no no no no….”
I can't stand anymore, tripping over my own limbs I fall.
The fall is long. Too long. Almost like a deliberate cinematic scene. A soundless scream escapes my mouth.
The last thing I see is my own body. My own broken shell, lying quietly on the cold concrete.
Then black dots start clouding my vision, slowly taking the whole view. After that there was only numbing darkness.
~~~~~
The nightly drizzle had long ended.
The cold sun was shining through the grey clouds.
The alley was silent. It was deafening.
The only sound was a quick methodical beeping.
"Beep"
Pause.
"Beep, beep"
The little device was located right below the neck of the suit. It turned on automatically after the owner hadn't moved for almost 12 hours.
What a shame that help always comes late...
The little hero was already cold for a long time.
Not even a faint trail of warmth.
~~~~~
When they had finally found him the body was as pale as a marble. He looked like the spitting image of death itself.
What a pity that our Spider wasn't able to see his mentor's expression and hear the scratchy screech escaping his throat.
It would make a perfect photo for future pranks.
Only if there could still be a future destined for the one and only Peter Parker.
Too bad that fate shoots blind.