Peter Parker, in his early twenties, has only carried the mantle for around six years, finds himself in a cat-and-mouse chase with an ever-encroaching serial killer who is seemingly targeting only the lowest of scum in the city-criminals. Even so, t...
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Stanley placed his hand through the broader section of his tie, pushing it up and over in a jerky manner, his fingers clenching and unclenching with robotic determination. His joints shifted rigidly, devoid of any human-like grace. There was a noticeable lack of fluidity, each movement a series of precise calculations and swift rotations.
"How could you just stand there, Stanley?"
June spat, pacing just outside the bathroom.
"Is there really nothing you have to say? Do you even care about us, our marriage?"
Stanley drowned out the sound of his belligerent wife, his eyes fixated on his reflection in the mirror, while he continued to adjust his tie meticulously.
"You've always been spineless, always avoiding confrontation. Did ya' ever wonder why I went somewhere else? Ya' can't even defend your own marriage!"
"Spineless? Really?"
Stanley's retort was ice-cold, his tone devoid of emotion, though his reflection in the mirror told a more woebegone story.
"Your pathetic, lecturing me about my shortcomings when you're the one who betrayed our vows?"
He gripped his tie, his focus completely lost.
"You can twist it however you like June, but the truth is YOU cheated, not me!"
June stopped pacing and turned to face his reflection.
"Oh, please... You're allllways the victim aren'cha? can't handle nufin' if that doesn't fit your obsessive little bubble."
She paused as if to plan her next words more carefully.
"I need someone warm Stanley, someone human... not a man chained to stupid rituals and routines... If ya' were half the man I needed I wouldn't have had to hanker fer' someone else.
Stanley loosened his grip, his voice rife with emotion.
"I thought we were happy, I still love you..."
"Love me? Stanley where beyond this, ya' rarely talk to me... and when you do it's overwhelming, do ya' always gotta be so bleak? it's suffocating... I need room to breathe, to be with someone who doesn't drown me in their own insecurities—"
She sighed, the moment fleeting yet feeling so long. She looked at the man she pledged her life to, maybe the two held a longing for something intangible. Yet, what met her gaze was a stranger, a mere impersonation of the man she once married. The room's silence grew louder, echoing the heartache of the love that had lost its way, underscoring the profound chasm that had grown between them.
"I can't keep pretending I'm in love with a memory, no matter how much you try you can't escape what you truly are."
She slammed the apartment door behind her, the harsh sound reverberating throughout the confines of the tiny New York City apartment. Stanley stood still as if frozen in time, his silhouette cast firm against the soft light spilling from the bathroom doorway. Her words pierced through the air, sinking deep into the recesses of his fervent mind. He found himself locked in a silent battle with himself, his eyes fixated on the reflection of the door. The room seemed to constrict around him. The walls lined with the haunting echos of her accusations, each word etching itself into his conscience, picking at him. The weight of it bore down, crushing him wholly.
Just as the room threatened to crush him under the weight of its unraveling, his emotions erupted into an unbridled rage. Losing the battle with silence, Stanley yelled out, striking the mirror with such ferocity the impact shattered the glass into a thousand tiny pieces. His shoulders shook, and a raw, guttural cry tore itself from his throat. His chest heaved, every labored breath ragged inhalations, and a testament to the tempestuous storm swirling within him. He surveyed the wreckage, finding his own reflection among the shattered remnants, his tears mingling with the shards on the bathroom floor.
He fixed his gaze on his quivering hands, stained with bright red blood. The pleasant agony acted as an anchor, grounding Stanley from his neuritic high. In that profound moment of sensation, a flicker of hunger tinged in his eyes, reflecting a yearning for more than mere existence. The room, once a confining enclosure, had transformed into a boundless expanse, as if the very walls had stretched and the world itself had expanded to accommodate the burgeoning yearning within his soul. He drew a deep cleansing breath, before turning away from the void left by his missing mirror. His focus shifted to the sprawling cityscape beyond the bathroom window, each building and street allowing sound and life to rush into Stanley. A symbol of both chaos and order.
Once a latent ache, his hunger transformed into a profound force within him, urging him forward with a sense of purpose that transcended understanding. It was more than a desire, it was a calling, resonating with a truth that seemed to echo through the depths of his being. Stanley realized he was no longer a man; but a vessel, a conduit for a force greater than himself charged with bringing enlightenment to the world.
The hunger inside him became a beacon, illuminating his path with otherworldy wisdom and an unwavering determination to bring about change, through a transformative, relentless pursuit of purity and redemption and steering him not toward wrath or retribution, but toward a higher mission—a mission to cleanse the world, to free it from the burden of sin, one sinner at a time.
