Peter Parker and Meredith Stacy (A Spider Man Story)

Part 1: Annoying Repetition

Night is slowly creeping in like a blanket, a cool breeze comes in as I cuddle into my black sweater, searching for warmth in it as I walk. Although I've been born and raised in New York for seventeen years, I can't help but marvel at the bright, beautiful lights and skyscrapers. The whole life of the street is threaded in lights.

I continue to listen to music, the white ear-buds blasting in my ears as it blocks the roars of taxis, buses, and cars. I know I am definitely late as I'm walking home. My mom sends me a text telling me to help her with dinner. Apparently, my relatives all the way from California are visiting and we have to be top-notch and flawless to them. So to arrive quicker, I take the shortcut—which is a dark alleyway—instead of the safe yet crowded streets of the city. I push away the bad feeling as I think of how much I need the quicker way home. Besides, I've passed through this way numerous times before thus it should be fine.

Few minutes later, and I'm nearly there. So close yet so far. I can't prevent my escalating breaths and my rapidly increasing heartbeat as it hammers against my chest. I glance to my left to see some people in hoods selling whatever they were selling. They couldn't care less about me, yet a guy with a scruffy beard and sandy hair eyes my purse. As in, the fake pink Coach purse I got in Chinatown. Making it obvious, he leaves his pack and starts to follow me, right behind my heels. I consider 'accidently' dropping my purse on the ground as I quicken my pace.

Suddenly, a great force collapses on me as I fall face first onto the cracked pavement, with my iPod and headphones skidding across the floor. I instinctively place my hand to my face as crimson blood begins trickling down my nose. Crap. I feel dizzy, and my head is pounding while my ears are ringing.

My eyes begin to droop heavily before catching a glimpse of a man and a gang of his friends behind him, making their way toward us. The man with sandy hair breathes short and heavily—like a dog panting and the only scent I take in is the pungent smell of alcohol. He snatches my purse and rummages through it. "Don't you have any money?" he scoffs before trashing it onto the ground, the materials scatter amongst the now empty alleyway.

No, I don't. Jackass. Just a ten-dollar gift card to Starbucks, I mentally reply.

His stubby hands travel down to the pocket of my jeans and I try escaping, though that proves to be a futile attempt. My screams are muffled as he clamps his hand over my mouth. I squirm under his green cat-like eyes; they look so greedy, hungry and vicious. He licks his cracked lips and bile rises up my throat as I hear his next words. 

"Not much cash, but your body will do." The men lingering around us in a small circle start to cheer and laugh, and my head stops spinning and I snap back into reality. With narrow, angry eyes I kick his crotch and bit his index finger as he doubles over in pain. I then spit on him, his face stains with my blood and saliva. As I try to push through the circle of people and run, I can't seem to get anywhere. Millions of hands are wrapping around my arms and something slaps across my face. I scoff inwardly but it comes out as a groan. Come on, Meredith, I think to myself, Fight through this.

The thug grabs my ankles and I try kicking, but reach to no avail. He turns me around and lies on top of me, roughly cupping my bloody face. A sick smile creeps across his lips. "Feisty. I dig that." Says a deep, rough voice in the small crowd.

"Rot in hell," I growl, but of course it comes out as a feeble whisper. The man chuckles dryly, with a mischievous glint in his piercing eyes.

"Please," I whimper at last, without caring that I'm begging. I take the small chance incase the beg will make a difference. It doesn't. Very well. I pull my head down and then smack his face with the back of my skull, but I can't even push him off of me; he's too heavy. And I'm too weak. Then all I see is red. Red, red, red.