Worth It (a Spiderman Fan Fiction)

Source: here

Disclaimer: This is a fan-fiction written by me about a very popular character from Marvel Comics. I do not own any rights to this character or its fictional world. I am simply borrowing him for sometime, since I like creating stories. It is also my first time writing such a story, bear that in mind.

Worth it
by Kunal Nayak

The wind was harsh. A chilly air swept his hair as it always did in the city of New York. Peter couldn’t help but feel sad. It was the same thing, over and over again. He always sat here, feeling helpless. He always waited in the dark for some change. This particular location, the top of the Daily Bugle headquarters, was his favourite place. It was a high tower, with a huge neon DAILY BUGLE sign on top of it. His personal favourite had always been the letter B in the sign.

So that is where he was perched upon when he was sitting cross-legged that night. It had been a long night. Events had transpired and he had chased down the bad guys like he always had. After a short victory and some cheers from the citizens, he had swung high from one building to another and finally come to rest on this building. It gave him comfort and some time to think.

Recently, though, he had started to realize that the help he was giving to these people, the good he was trying to do, had been for nothing. He thought back to the times he had saved innocent civilians from mean thugs or robbers. Back in the day, things had been simpler. All he had to do was shoot a web, take the guy down with his agility and that would be it. The NYPD would appear in no time after an “anonymous tip” and capture the guy.

Then, the crazies came out. One by one, they appeared. First, it was the Chameleon. A guy who could hide his disappearance very well. One of a kind, Peter had taken days to find out what was going on. You should understand his side too, though. He thought that his little biology mishap had made him one of a kind too. Instead, these months later after the mishap, he had encountered the man who could change forms.

It didn’t stop there, though. Chameleon was gone, after a fortnight of fighting and using shrewd observation skills on Peter’s part. It worked, in the end. But for the good? Because not a week later, another Crazy had fashioned himself from the cloth of New York. He called himself the Vulture. A mad inventor who had created ingenious mechanical wings and used his superhuman strength to wreak havoc. It had taken Peter a lot of thinking and strategy to take down a man who could fly and potentially squash him to a pulp. Peter had saved innocent lives at that time, saving the people from the Vulture’s wrath. But had it actually changed anything?

Doctor Octopus, Sandman, Lizard, Electro and many more came after the Vulture. It seemed that over time, the instability of mental health and extent of crime curved upwards. The bad guys continued to come one after another. They kept doing bad things. Peter felt helpless sometimes, and right now, he was feeling the same.

His thoughts took a swift turn towards his amateur days. They had called him “The Masked Vigilante” back then. A simple diving suit of blue and red, with a shabby spider insignia, had been his “costume”. The Commissioner had chased him for quite a while, trying think of ways to catch him. But Peter had always slipped away quietly.

A chuckle escaped his lips but as quick as it had come, it went away. The smile disappeared as a small thought grew like a sapling in his mind- why he had decided to wear the red and the blue in the first place.

It had been a while since he had thought of his deceased uncle. It seemed like an eternity now. All those days of angst, all his anger at his uncle for being dead, it almost seemed laughable now. He remember that particular day, the day the Masked Vigilante had died and Spider-man had been born. His thoughts went back all the way to the fight with the bully in High School, the Angsty Teenager talk his uncle had given him, his ignorance at his uncle’s words and then the shooting. If only he had listened to Uncle Ben.

But that is what his mind always jumped to. If only he had been a good nephew, Uncle Ben would be alive. But over time, he had learned to forgive himself. That did not mean, however, that it didn’t sting.

He had come a long way, truly.

But had it made a difference?

Every day, people got hurt. Every day, a new threat exposed itself to the city. Every day, crime would show its ugly face. So how had he helped? He shook his head, the cold from the night not affecting him. The B under him flickered. He closed his eyes, trying to immunize himself from the nausea that the flickering the sign was causing. He did not want to move however. This was the only place he could be.

He did not like his apartment. The small, messy place was less than welcoming. And certainly not peaceful. He did not want to disturb Aunt May at this hour of the night, and besides, what would he tell her? That him being Spider-man had helped no one. He did not want to give the old lady a heart attack! But then again, would she? She was a strong lady. He thought of the time she had hit Doctor Octopus over the head with a stick. Repeatedly. And the six-armed monster had not been able to do anything.

Another chuckle. And again, it vanished in thin air the moment it had come on his lips.

Technical jargon escaped the Police Radio but by now, he had learnt what it meant. He quickly leapt down the B sign and swung high. One after the other, he dangled away from the blocks, trying to find the robbery in progress. His inner dilemma was tearing him apart. But he did not let that affect his job. No, not the one as a photographer in Daily Bugle. His real job.

He searched the alleyway the police had stated in the radio. He could not find anyone there. His experience as a long-time crime fighter made him realize that perhaps the person had fled. Right now, some thug was chasing down the victim down the alleyways in the city.

He swung back up, arching his back. The spider-senses weren’t tingling. They were strictly on hibernation. But then so was his morale. His mind kept pulling him away from the thug that he was chasing, back to his dilemma.

He finally found them. The thug had cornered the victim, a balding man with his wife and child. They were neatly dressed but were looking thoroughly scared. The child, a nine year old boy, was shaking. He was hiding behind his mother.

“Give me everything you’ve got!” the thug was yelling threateningly. “Or else…”

The threat lingered in the air, hanging like a low-lying branch. But the man, although scared, was not deterred.

Bravely, he pushed his wife and son behind him and said firmly, “NO!”

The thug waved his gun, brandishing it aggressively. Peter was ready to jump any time now. The man kept denying the thug, the thug kept threatening the innocent family.

Once again, the same story. Had anything changed? Crime was still prevalent in the city, after all his hard work.

“Look, Spider-man!” said the wife, pointing upwards. Peter, who had been looking away, whipped his head back to the crime-in-progress.

As Peter recoiled in place, ready to spring, he watched something strange. Something beautiful.

The man was fleeing. The thug with the gun, scared at the notion of Spider-man apparently, had thrown his gun aside and fled, without taking a second look upwards. Another pang of surprise as Peter realized that the woman was not pointing at Peter. She was pointing in the wrong direction.

So the woman had been lying. And the notion of Spider-man had led the thug to stop his crime. The boy smiled to his mother, crying. But he could sense the happiness in the tears. His eyes darted upwards, perhaps trying to locate the cause of a peculiar shadow at the place on the opposite building. They met with the real Spider-man.

But Peter had swung away, before the rest of the little family had looked too. He smiled to himself, knowing it had made a difference. Knowing, it was definitely worth it.

Although the crime in the city was very much still in existence and the people were still being taken advantage of, one thing was different. He had given them hope. He had given them something to use to fight against darkness. He had given them light.

As he swept away from the late-night bustling city, ready to collapse on his bed in exhaustion from both his jobs, a thought came across his mind. This time it was a good one.

Had it changed anything?

He could hear his Uncle Ben’s voice saying a resounding “Yes!”

A few blocks away, the B in the Daily Bugle’s neon sign shone brightly, no longer flickering.

-The End-

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow onTwitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.


Moving On

Moving On
by Kunal Nayak

The little salvaged cubes of vegetables danced maniacally in the boiling water. Vee extended her hands, inches away from the old vessel. The warmth was blissful. It made her forget all her problems. The fire that danced below the vessel was very pleasing. Even the cold could not deter her now.

She waited as the vegetables continued to boil. They would sleep tonight with food in their stomachs. It would be a sleep of peace; especially since she had found two moth-eaten but perfectly fine sheets of blankets from her work place. She smiled at the thought.

As she waited in the dead of the night for the dinner to cook, her mind wandered. Perhaps it was the cold, or perhaps it was the warmth. But old memories stung. And they stung hard.

It seemed like an eternity now but back in her youth, Vee had been rich. Filthy rich. Miles and miles away, she was sure that her old family, the lying and manipulative backstabbers, were comfortably enjoying their feasts. No pity for their only daughter, no sense of resentment… only shame.

She liked the fact that she was homeless now. Yes. She absolutely embraced it. She had no money; she had no friends. She had no conniving parents, no selfish siblings to scheme behind her back, no abusive husbands to leave scars on her body… she was happy. For once, she was happy. And for once, she felt protected.

She fidgeted around until her old, ragged but still good enough hoodie was covering all of the marks. They still hurt, sometimes. No, not physically. These were not the purple patches her husband had left behind. They were the scars that she would bear mentally for the rest of her life. And she would do it proudly.

She still thought back to the day, when she had left home. The hell house. This home was not the one where she was born, but the house where she had died. A place, where she had been driven nearly insane by controlling mother-in-law, her ignorant husband and their perfect son. The perfect shining knight that was supposed to make her feel happy and safe. The same son who was also a Dark Brute when she was with him alone.

She had promised not to cry. She had always told herself that she would move on. In spite of all the bad things, she had forgiven her ex-husband for all the problems he had given her. But somethings never changed. Be it the warm confinement of her bedroom, or the harsh cold night on the streets-tears still welled up in her eyes.

She had finally mustered courage and slapped her husband goodbye. It had been a wonderful day. She had paid, of course. But she had also left him behind. She had stomped on her husband’s foot and left her in-law’s in awe when she had run away. But she did not like calling it “running-away.” She rather called it as Moving on.

She had rushed home, and with a firm determination she did not know she had, had relayed the truth to her home. She was finally relieved, for the first time in months now that she was truly home. The same home where she had grown up, where she had been pampered. The same home that were now blaming her for her failed marriage.

She sniffled, but calmly controlled herself.

Her parents had yelled at her for leaving her husband’s home. They had refused to let her in. They had already called her horrible in-laws. Her siblings, her two younger brothers stood behind her parents, not giving a crap. They stood there, saying nothing. Doing nothing. Just standing, bored and cold. Her heart shattered into two. Her soul retched. She ran once more.

But where would she go? She had no one. Her friends, those “Selfie takers”, those humans that wore a façade, had abandoned her. But then again, her husband seemed like a golden boy to everyone but her. He had been the centre of social circles. He had always been the ideal husband.

Now here she was.

She had left the city. She was now on the streets. She felt lost. There was only one reason she had not gone back. But she still felt helpless. Her life was officially screwed. So what was she supposed to do?

She had no official degree in education. “Why study when your husband is there to provide?” or “Why worry when your father has all the money in the world?” were her mother’s automated responses. It felt foolish now.

She checked the vegetables for rawness, and they still felt undercooked. So she added more wood to the fire. It roared, providing her with waves of warmth. She closed her eyes to feel the heat on her face. Then she lost it.

She dare not scream on the outside, but her insides were burning. Her face was red with a mixed sense of frustration and sorrow. The step she had taken, of abandoning her family, her families, had been a big one. She had always known that there was no going back. But the warmth disappeared. Suddenly, just like her life, the heat had withered away. She could still see the fire, a perfect energy in front of her. But it gave no peace. It was a cold fire.

For a moment, she yelled. It was a soft yell that did not carry. But still, it made her feel light. She wanted to go back. She wanted to apologize. She did not want to live this life anymore. This freedom that was supposed to taste sweet was in reality bitter and unfathomable. She wanted her life back. She wanted it all back.

“Why should I not?” she thought to herself. The vegetables danced, the vessel steamed. “What does it matter if they hurt me? I can learn to not feel the pain. But at least I will be safe?”

She got up in a short moment of epiphany. She would learn. She would lead a miserable life, but at least she would be comfortable. At least she would be well fed and warm.

And then she realised why she couldn’t go back.

Her daughter, a four year old with an angelic smile, came running towards her. She had her three year old brother with her. They were laughing. They had just come back from playing with a couple of other street kids.

Her frown vanished. Her inner turmoil was wiped off. She could only see her kids. The same kids her two families had not cared for. The same angels that her husband had not bothered to take from her. The same kids she had run away from home for.

They had never known their grandparents or father, because they had been too small. But even though they did not have a roof over their head, even though the only thing that would be in their stomachs was a couple of carrots, potatoes and peas, they were safe. They were loved. They were her anchor.

She smiled at them as she served them dinner. They sat around the fire, prayed to God, and dug in. Vee knew now why she would be just fine.

As always, if any of it made you smile, laugh, frown or giggle like a little baby, comment share and like! To be up-to-date with my other posts, give a like to my Facebook page and follow on Twitter if you use it! Any images used are either taken from Google Images or from my own personal collection or other sources which will be mentioned if and when, unless stated otherwise. Contact me if you want it removed.