DIE TRYING ⇀ ( peter parker )

ONE

CHAPTER ONE
°⋆∴☽°:۵≼

i. find a penny !

— THE EXISTENCE OF LIGHT IMPLIES THE EXISTENCE OF DARKNESS. Darkness cannot exist without its opposite, and similarly, light cannot exist without shadow. This is the most basic, fundamental point of being. Good implies bad. Black implies white. Life implies death- or, death implies life. Death cannot exist without life, for one cannot die without first having lived. This is a comforting thought, disguised as something else entirely. We become melancholy with this idea that the end is inevitable; it weighs on our minds, in the murky, lightless existence behind our eyelids. It cripples us. Deforms us. Plagues us with an incessant worry.

Many seem to forget that an end can only exist in the presence of a beginning. This is when the thought becomes a consoling one to anyone who knew the famed Lionel LaFrance. His life was brief, and yet, it was.

These thoughts, as intense and stirring as they were, weren't even a glimpse in Peter Parker's eye this breezy Queens morning. In fact, his mind was entirely preoccupied by the test he was surely going to miss if he didn't make it to school in the next five minutes.

"Sorry!" He shouted behind him, nearly tripping over his untied laces in his hurry, as the backpack hanging off his left shoulder bucked into a passerby's arm.

Groaning as he came to a stop in front of the one crosswalk that he swore could always smell fear, he reserved the idea that he was most definitely going to be late as the little 'stop' symbol practically mocked him from the other side of the street.

Deciding to take what would surely be a good few minutes and make use of his forced running break, Peter absentmindedly leaned down to his beat up sneakers, going to tie the frayed laces before realising they hadn't actually been untied in the first place. Standing again, this time with furrowed brows, he hikes up his bag and doesn't have much more time to dwell on how truly uncoordinated he must be to have been tripping over his own two feet, as a beeping caught his attention and he lifted his head to witness, in awe, the crosswalk symbol changing and announcing his entry back into the race.

Peter took off like a shot, mumbling apologies to those he pushed past as he miraculously got closer and closer to Midtown, not once pausing until he had climbed the stairs, burst through the doors, manoeuvred between the crowd, and finally came to a stop in front of his locker, cracking open the lock with practised ease and two minutes to spare.

The comfort of having more time than expected did nothing to soothe his frantic movements, nearly tearing the flimsy zipper of his bag in his mindless rush, trying to cram the light grey material into his locker while fishing through the backpack for his necessary books. His cheeks turned red as people side-eyed his ongoing battle with his too-small locker, causing him to embarrassingly give up and recollect his things into an awkward pile in his arms, slamming the offending locker shut and shuffling away from prying stares.