May "Mayday" Parker (spiderette) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-06-21 16:14:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log, !trigger warning, ava ayala / white tiger (trn123), mayday parker / spider-girl (mc2) |
Who: Mayday Parker / Spider-Girl (mc2) [and ?]
What: The fires are out, at least the literal ones.
Where: A rooftop not far from Hell's Kitchen
When: 6/20, after the explosions have been dealt with
Rating: Assume R. Potential triggers include: Reliving of traumatic events. Mention of death, anxiety issues.
Status: Log, narrative (?) complete.
Notes:If anyone needs help with activity this month, you can feel free to tag into this, but please note, it's not a happy scene. I just can't sleep and feel like writing.
Panic. There was no feeling in the world quite like it. Even the normally comforting touch of the mask was too much and, as May scrambled to put some distance between the night's work and herself, she could feel the walls closing in. Her lungs burned with an inability to get air, her head felt dizzy. If May hadn't been absolutely positive that she was swinging on a strand of webbing, she might have been just as certain that she was drowning. Finally, after dropping herself onto a (hopefully) barren patch of roof, May yanked the mask from her face and gasped at the cool night air. Normally, she never would have been so bold as to go maskless while still obviously in costume, but nothing about today was normal. Everything seemed to hurt, and in a way she just didn't have words to articulate. She couldn't get up from her hands and knees, couldn't get air into her lungs. Finally, in an act of all out surrender, May crashed onto her stomach, kicking in the vague hope that she might be able to get herself on her back. She tried to shut her eyes, to wash out all the sights in her head. She tried to focus her thoughts, to remind herself that she'd done well tonight despite the panic. She'd saved lives, she'd helped people. She'd done what Spiders were supposed to do. There was good in that, there was strength, but it might as well have been sand with the way it was slipping through her fingers. That was the problem with a tightly corked bottle that found itself suddenly shaken... Sometimes they burst. The coughing was the first sign that she'd lost, that the fight was truly over. It was the tight and demanding contraction of muscles that curled her body into a tight ball. Her arms instinctively, protectively, wrapped around her head. Her breaths became ragged and she could feel her eyes start to burn. May just shut them tighter, tried to breathe, tried to still the murderous rhythm that was tearing through her veins. She got nowhere. She had to accept that. Where else was there to go?
The fire. It had been the trigger. There was no denying that. The smell of acrid smoke, the taste in her mouth. It was like stepping into her worst nightmare, which was a thing that had recently been all too real. Again, May tried to fight it. She tried to dig her toes into whatever solid ground they could find, tried helplessly to push through the impossible sensations. Again, she failed and there was nothing left to do but bang her fist in frustration against the hard surface that cradled her. Fingers dug deeply into palms as balled fists pushed against the ground beneath her. She had to get up. She couldn’t just lay there. She had to get up, she had to get moving, she had to get her mask back on, she had to do something. She tried again to push herself up but dropped back to her stomach. Whatever she had to do, was going to have to wait until she had the strength. Morlun. It was normally the only thing she could see in the blackness of her eyelids. It was the one face that, since the first time she’d seen it, had filled her with an unquenchable rage. Even now, in the fits of anxiety, she could feel her small hands begin to tremble as the details filled in. Tonight though, despite the fact that the memory had played out hundreds of times in her mind, it was different. Tonight she wasn’t just remembering the way his massive hand had easily tossed her about like she was a child’s toy, or the helpless and frightened look she saw in her Father’s eyes for the first time. Tonight it was the fire. She could see glimpses of the house, she could see pictures hanging on the wall. She could remember… The sound of her Mother’s voice crashed against the swirling void of orange and smoke. May clenched her fists tighter, trying to force it down and out of sight.
The memory was enough to leave a sharp gasp rolling into her lungs, the cool air of the night seemingly scorching everything it touched. It was enough to give her some adrenaline, something to push her from the fetal curl she was into a hunched ball on her knees. She tried, one last time, to get to her feet but was simply just too tired. The night had exhausted her to levels she never could have imagined. For that, there was only one thing to say… “...I’m sorry…” For all her bravery, for all the work she’d done to be worthy of the mantle, his mantle, it hadn’t been enough. She might have been a Spider, she might have been someone who took to the webs and saved lives. She might have been a hero in the morning even, but right now she was May Parker -- a girl who’d lost everything because she hadn’t been able to stop the monster responsible. Tonight she’d stared into that memory and tonight, for the first time, she couldn’t bite it back anymore. Tonight, she wept. |