Eleven minutes

8 minutes

Appreciation 

-Third Person P.O.V- 

Shallow, wheezing breath falls from Peter's lips as his gaze stays locked on the night sky above him. 

Stars begin to peak out of the darkness, lighting up the normally dark night sky. Most the time the pollution is too strong for him to be able to see stars, but tonight they must be on his side, allowing his to gaze upon them. 

One last time. 

The moon was rising slowly in the sky, shining brighter then he had ever seen it. Or maybe it's because it's one of the last bright things he may ever see. 

(Letting go is hard, so hard)

A flock of birds fly over head and his eyes slowly follow them as they fly away. In away, that's what Peter feels as though he's about to do, just in a different manner. 

Sometimes, when he would swing along, he would think of himself as a bird, a little ironic as his name is Spiderman. But yet, when he was gliding from building to building, he couldn't describe the feeling of being so weightless, of flying from one place to another and knowing this isn't something many- if not any one can do. 

A cold breeze swept over him, bringing him back into reality. His tears were still falling, but he knew they were slowing down now, his energy deplating with every measly second that passes. 

Briefly, he wonders what everyone in his life is doing right now, he wonders if they can feel something is wrong. Or if they're just enjoying their lives, living and- and breathing. 

He wonders how they'll find out he isn't here anymore. Will they walk into school and get told, or will his parents call them and tell them. 

Would Flash care. Probably not. 

And Spiderman- what will- who will look out for the people. Will they feel like he abandoned them- he hopes they don't. He doesn't- he doesn't want to go, he doesn't want to- to die. 

(I will always be proud of you, and what you achieved)

He wishes he could visit more places, travel more and- and live more. God he wishes he lived more, saw more sights, appreciated them more then he did at the time. He would give everything right now to be with his family somewhere else. 

The regret seems to pour into him for a moment, wishing he could do this different, or that different. But it's too late. 

He can't anymore. 

His eyes focus back onto the sky, the breeze settling him slightly as a small smile settles on his face. Light tears fall down his face, as the blood continues to slide onto the cold ground below him. 

Why is it so cold? 

Why is- why is he so tired. 

(You're my kid, no matter what, and I love you so much.)