On The Sidewalk Bleeding (Peter Parker)

The Allyway

There will only be on part of this story. Also, for the sake of this story, just pretend he wears clothes under the suit. I know that doesn't really make sense, but it makes the story more sad and less weird.

TW: gore, drinking (only minor, and its not the main character), lots of blood

Third Person

The brown haired boy sat against a brick wall, bleeding in the rain. He was sixteen years old and wore a blue and red suit, a spider emblem adorning the front. The brunettes name was Peter, though everyone one knew him as Spiderman. The colors stood for Spiderman.

He had been stabbed a few minutes ago. The knife had entered just below his ribcage, then travelled across his body, tearing a wide gap in his flesh. He sat on the sidewalk, using a wall to prop himself up, the March rain drilling his suit and body and washing away the blood that poured from the open wound. He had known pain, being Spiderman and all, but now he really knew it. The second the knife had been shoved into his stomach, that was when he met the worst kind of pain. It was almost a relief when the blade has been pulled away. He had heard a voice, "You deserved that, Spidey!" and the sound of heavy footsteps, and then he had fallen to the sidewalk, clutching his stomach in attempt to stop the inevitable flow of blood that poured from his wound.

He tried to yell, he tried so hard, hoping someone would come to help him, but he had no voice. He did not know why his voice had gone or the reason there was an open whole in his body from which his life ran from, staining the side walk. He did not know why the rain had suddenly become so fierce, or the time, although it was known to be 11:23 p.m. to the rest of Queens.

There was another thing he did not know.

He did not know he was dying. He lay on the sidewalk, bleeding, yet he thought only: Those were some tough villains. They got me good that time. But he did not know he was dying. He would have been terrified if he had known. In his own ignorance, he lay bleeding and wishing he could cry out for help, but his voice had washed away in the rain. There was only the bubbling of blood from between his lips every time he opened his mouth to speak. He laid there in pain, waiting, waiting for someone to find him.

He could hear the sound of automobile tires hushed on the rain swept streets, far away on the other end of the long alley. He sat with the back of his head pressed against the wall, and he could see the splash of vibrant neon far away at the other end of the alley, tinting the concrete red and green, sickly brilliant in the rain.

He wondered if Mj and Ned would be angry. He had left Ned's apartment to patrol. He had said he would be home by 11:00, and then he had climbed out the window, swinging around in search for any crime. He had heard yelling in the alley, and that was when he had been stabbed.

He could hear the faint sound of chatter now, coming from someone far off. Maybe his friends thought he was just caught up in a fight. Maybe they thought he lost track of time. He thought of their faces, Mj's rare but beautiful smile, Ned's goofy one. Thinking of them helped him forget the pain a little, forget that his blood, his life, was pouring out of him.

Someday he would marry Mj. Someday he would marry her, and they would move in together, neighbors to Ned. Hell, they could all live together, in one big house.

He heard heavy footsteps at the other end of the alley, and he turned his head to look into the darkness and attempted to cry out, but again there was only the soft hiss of blood bubbling on his lips.

The man walked down the alley. He had not seen Peter yet. He walked, then stopped to lean against the brick of the building, the continues his journey into the alleyway. He saw Peter then and came towards him. The man stood over Peter for a while, staring, the minutes ticking.