Spiderson Oneshots

Burning Darkness--Peter

Warnings: Mentions of death and suicide

Peter's P.O.V.

Mom used to say that I was a ball of sunshine. That I was like a star that lit up the night sky, guiding people. But she seemed to miss the burning darkness that felt like it was eating me whole. The darkness that continued to grow and grow, consuming every ounce of my fiber and being until I could think of nothing else. The darkness that had grown sharp claws and clawed around inside me, trying to get free to wreak havoc on everywhere else.

Depending on the day, it seems that parents can see the best in you or the worst. I think Mom always saw the best. But if she could see me now, what would she see? The mask I put up that everyone saw or the me that wanted to give up every second of the day that no one saw? Would she be proud of me, I wonder. But I knew for sure that she wouldn't see the little boy.

I think it was losing them that made the darkness toss its head and rear. It saw an opportunity. It brought upon this constant downward spiral that I can't seem to free myself from. The spirals turn to coils, pulling and constricting like a snake. Pulling me one way and then another. It's demanding, and I don't know how to make it stop.

The darkness inside me is growing. With each thought and spoken word, it'll warp it until it becomes unrecognizable from what it used to be. It's like a filter, and I see only what it wants me to see. I know it's destroying me, but I don't know how to make it stop.

Light is supposed to scare away the dark. Mom said I was a star, but if stars give off light, then why is this darkness still here? Why does it control everything I do? Why does it encompass everything I do?

I don't remember my life without darkness. It's like my parents--I know they were real, but it is so odd to think of my life when I had them. It just doesn't seem right. I've gotten so used to this normal that isn't really normal at all. Sure, I want it to go away, but I don't know who I'd be without it. I feel like I'm only defined by the darkness inside me. What else is there to say who I am? What am I but this thing that encompasses every part of my life?

I live in constant confusion. My life is controlled by something I cannot see. My mind is bent and twisted in ways that shouldn't be possible. I'm a shadow of who I used to be.

---~---~---

I've always hated the phrase 'beautifully broken' to describe a person. It's an oxymoron. How can someone be beautiful yet broken? I know that I am broken, and not once do I wish for that to be described as beautiful. Because nothing about having your heart broken, with something or someone constantly on your mind while still trying to hide it is beautiful. Nothing about carving your own skin and painting a smile on a mask is pretty. Nothing about being torn to shreds by another person is beautiful. Maybe I'm not seeing it from the right perspective, but that doesn't sit right with me.

The day I figured out how broken I was wasn't a day that you'd think. I was happy. I had built a Lego set--the Y-Wing set--with Ned and had a whole bunch of fun playing with it and making up stories. I'll always be thankful to Ned for giving me back a small amount of my childhood when we play together.

That day, I'd been able to go to Decathlon practice. Flash had been okay, although that was because he had a cold. I had answered many of the questions right and been praised.

After school, I had gone to Stark Tower. Happy drove me. I had to wait a little bit before Mister Stark arrived because he was in meetings. But when he got there, we fell into our usual routine. We tinkered with our suits, occasionally asking an opinion or question.

I'm not sure what triggered it. I hadn't been thinking about anything besides where I needed to attach a wire. In a moment, I couldn't breathe. I was crumbling, feeling like I was falling. When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see that there weren't pieces of me scattered about. Yet in a way, there was. Memories appeared like trailers from movies, soundless and yet shouting. It was like staring at the night sky, lights dancing across a blank scene.

It hit me. It came roaring like a wave of wind. I could feel the tornado inside me, whirling everything about, destruction in its wake. But in it, I saw the truth so evidently portrayed. It was spread out in the constellations of memories.

I am broken. Twisted and mangled and all things that aren't good. Bent into a shape that is unrecognizable from who I used to be. Cracked and shattered. Split and divided. Falling apart.

It was a revelation that was Earth-shattering. But Mister Stark didn't even look over. Didn't even notice. How could he not notice? How can something so big not even affect someone else?

Over time, I've come up with so many metaphors and found others, trying to find the perfect one to describe me. Sorted through poetry, and quotes, and pictures trying to find who I am. Trying to see myself in the words of others as my own fail me. My favorite by far is that I am a woven tapestry. Everything in my life has been a thread of a different color, and together, it makes me. But this darkness inside me is the weaver being unsatisfied and is pulling me apart, examining each part of me and deciding what to keep. I'm losing myself to it. I don't know what to do. This burning darkness is being fed parts of me to never again see. I don't know how to extinguish it. I just don't know anymore.

---~---~---

Have you ever felt so inexplicably lost despite knowing exactly where you are? Yet wanted to stay there because at least you know this place. You find yourself reminiscing over the other place, but you start to fear that it won't be what you hoped. I feel that way sometimes. So absolutely confused and understanding and you're not sure which is which. Not sure how to describe how you're feeling but knowing that it's not nothing like you play it off as.

I've found that words fail me. There's no collection of words to perfectly describe me. Some parts can be described as physical things. But mental things stay mental without words but somehow still there. Words are physical, and I guess there isn't a translator for physical to mental. They are different, and they stay different.

But what is the point of putting things in words if there's no one to read them? I could write pages that no one would ever read if I knew with which word to start. Poems, quotes, or stories could be compiled with no eyes but my own to see them.

With what light could I read my words? What light is there left with this darkness? I'm a shadow, and shadows are afraid of the light. I guess I am too. I'm afraid of the light that will bring me back because I know light is never permanent. The sun and the other stars will go out, candles and fires doused, light bulbs switched off. The darkness is always there to be ushered in, so what is the point of light at all?

---~---~---

Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night, I wonder if anyone would miss me if I disappeared. Would they cry and hold one another? Or would they smile and say 'good riddance?' Would they even notice? Would they lie in bed like me, wondering what they could have done better?

---~---~---

It was a night of rain and thunder when I surrendered. I'd written the letters and tied the noose. I wanted to apologize, but I knew my words would fall on deaf ears. If only they'd known that I'd found the words I was looking for. If only they cared enough.

I was a fighter. But sometimes, battles must be lost. There's always a loser. I guess this time it's me.

Mom always said I was a ball of sunshine. She forgot that even the sun must surrender to the darkness for it to rise again. I don't blame her. No one doomed me to this fate but me. I had to give in this time.

As for the words that I found--I guess 'I'm sorry' will have to do. You couldn't have saved me; I was too far gone. At least I'm going to a place where the light never dies.

Much love,

Peter. Parker.