Spiderson Oneshots

Never Enough--Peter

Warnings: Long, swearing, and character suicide (I'm pretty sure we all know the drill at this point.)

Peter's P.O.V.

It came like an onslaught and fought day in and day out. It didn't stop; it didn't need rest as I did. It was an immortal enemy of infinite power. It was drunk on power. It always took more than it needed, but it would never be satisfied. How could it be; a very powerful person was its host. It was like a parasite--feeding off the pain, and the fears, and the worries, and everything in between. It never seemed to stop. It wouldn't until it had taken over my body and mind.

No, it had no name. It was a creation all its own. What name could be given that could do it justice? It was painful, fearsome, and never-ending. Labels confined things, and this was a disease that could not be confined. It would grow out of its label until a new one could be placed for it to overcome. It was too powerful. And how could I, the stupid Penis Parker, overcome it?

The answer was simple--I couldn't. There was no use in fighting something that couldn't be beaten. Why did I spend time and effort on trying? And it wasn't like it lied either. It was right. And there was no more powerful enemy than truth. Lies keep you in the dark while truth destroys a person. There is no way to win unscathed.

So, I let it whisper in my ears. The truths came to light, stepping from the shadows in their hideous yet savior-like selves. Dangerous and beautiful. The words it whispered was like a drug I was addicted to; I couldn't get enough of it. I was high on my lows and the reoccurring theme of uselessness and hopelessness. Finally, something to tell me what I needed to hear.

The good thing about my newfound friend was that they didn't hold back. They didn't withhold the truth over the fear of my fragility. It came out and said it. And in a world where lying was second nature, it was good for something to finally care to critique me so I could be better. People don't seem to understand how badly I want to be better. They hold back so they can continue to laugh at me. To watch as I fail over and over again.

It held my best interests at heart. Made me better. I don't know why I'd kept it away in the first place. It was my medication, my drug, my friend.

At first, it was hard to take it. I didn't want to believe it. I was in denial. Weak. But I'd done the good thing and told no one. This was going to make them like me; it would make me better. I nursed my pride and kept on.

Acceptance had been forthcoming. It was like a sedative to a wound. It was cool and made me feel better.

I lived in what felt like a constant state of thoughtfulness. I walked quieter. I didn't use the lights. Everything was simple at those times. I enjoyed the feeling of the breeze and of grazing my fingers across something. Everything was just easy. There was only me and my friend. And it was calm. It was good. My friend had truly opened my eyes. I found the beauty in nature and music. Even in other people. What a crazy thing to live in a world of over seven billion and meet the people you meet and fall in love.

The only thing I couldn't find beauty in was myself. I was the person in this world of such possibility and blossoming beauty that made the blossoms curl in on themselves. I was the person who brought the stain of darkness trailing at my feet like an eccentric puppy. I was the person who brought the impossibility and the brokenness. I was the person who was unworthy to walk the world and keep going. I was a virus who could do no good. I was the dying flower in the world of beautiful budding blossoms.

It was exhausting to feel the thoughts. To know every person that looked at me never really liked me. To know that every bit of praise I'd received was fake. Sometimes, I still found myself feeling that they did care, and I'd be happy to share something with someone. Until I saw the look in their eyes that they tried to mask because I was bothering them. Taking them from what they deserved. I'd learned to stop talking.