Post by Adnan Khan on May 3, 2006 12:22:04 GMT -5
Since apparently it's a fad to put up sneak peaks I decided to post the first scene of Spidey for your alls viewing pleasure. Please bash it (constructively) so I know what to work on before I send the issue in for editting...
Peter popped his neck as he stepped out of the bathroom, bare-chested with a hand towel around his neck and wearing a pair of jeans. He looked at Eugene’s door, which was across the hall from the bathroom. Peter glanced at the gap between the carpet and the door and saw a bit of light seeping through. A shadow shifted. Movement. Eugene was awake. Peter had not gotten a chance to talk to Eugene since the incident two days ago when he had saved him as Spider-Man. Eugene had come home late the night of the attack, the morning hours in fact. After walking into his own room yesterday, he had not come out except to use the bathroom. Peter was unsure if Eugene had eaten anything. Peter understood that being attacked was traumatic, but nearly everyone in New York had been attacked by some rampaging super villain at some point.
No, the problem was deeper. It had to do with his depression since Jill had died. It was more than half a year since then, but still, he knew how it hurt when someone you loved died. Hell, when Gwen had lost her life to Norman, Peter had taken a long while to get back on his feet. Still today, Gwen frequently came to his mind.
Not to mention his late wife, Mary Jane. MJ… Peter shook himself. His friend needed him. Peter was fairly sure Eugene was awake now, especially it being nearly noon. His friend wasn’t a late sleeper. Peter knocked on the door.
There was no response. Peter tilted his head slightly, to hear for any movement. He knocked again.
No answer.
“Eugene?”
Still no response.
“I’m coming in Eugene,” Peter said, turning the knob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked.
Peter pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was shrouded in shadows, except for the slight bit of light seeping in through the blinds. The walls were white, but without but a bit of light, they gave off an illusion of slate grey. They were completely bare, except for the small single bed leaning against the wall to Peter’s left. In the small space left in the room to the right of the bed was only a small armchair. Peter remembered when Eugene had first moved into his apartment, so excited. They had even gone to several garage sales in the Park Slopes neighborhood of Brooklyn, and when Eugene had found the armchair, he had fallen in love. After paying twenty dollars for the torn thing, he brought it back to the apartment and placed it in his room.
Shortly after, he had been shot. He hadn’t bought furniture since.
The armchair was facing the window, and Peter saw Eugene’s elbows resting on the arms. Peter addressed Eugene’s back, “Eugene? You okay, man?”
Eugene stayed quite. “Eugene? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since you were attacked. I heard that it was pretty bad,” Peter paused, “Apparently this kid died.” Peter faltered; he didn’t know what else to say. The last comment was his guilt slipping out. He shook his head to clear it.
Eugene shifted slightly, and the leather on the armchair made a soft sound from the rubbing of his body. “Eugene, listen. I know what you’re going through. More than anyone. You know me. I’ve lost so much, and…” Peter sighed, “Eugene, just talk to me, you know I can help.”
“I know you want to talk to me. I mean, you left the door unlocked…” he paused, and then continued, “I’m sure on some level that you wanted to talk. C’mon man. It’s me.” Peter stayed at the back of the chair. He wished Eugene would turn and face him, “It’s Peter.”
Peter stared at the armchair, when he heard a response.
“I forgot to lock the door,” Eugene finally said.
Peter’s shoulders drooped. He shook his head and started to walk out the door. He paused at the doorway, “Just holler if you need me.”
Silence. At last Eugene said, “Lock the door on your way out.”
Peter popped his neck as he stepped out of the bathroom, bare-chested with a hand towel around his neck and wearing a pair of jeans. He looked at Eugene’s door, which was across the hall from the bathroom. Peter glanced at the gap between the carpet and the door and saw a bit of light seeping through. A shadow shifted. Movement. Eugene was awake. Peter had not gotten a chance to talk to Eugene since the incident two days ago when he had saved him as Spider-Man. Eugene had come home late the night of the attack, the morning hours in fact. After walking into his own room yesterday, he had not come out except to use the bathroom. Peter was unsure if Eugene had eaten anything. Peter understood that being attacked was traumatic, but nearly everyone in New York had been attacked by some rampaging super villain at some point.
No, the problem was deeper. It had to do with his depression since Jill had died. It was more than half a year since then, but still, he knew how it hurt when someone you loved died. Hell, when Gwen had lost her life to Norman, Peter had taken a long while to get back on his feet. Still today, Gwen frequently came to his mind.
Not to mention his late wife, Mary Jane. MJ… Peter shook himself. His friend needed him. Peter was fairly sure Eugene was awake now, especially it being nearly noon. His friend wasn’t a late sleeper. Peter knocked on the door.
There was no response. Peter tilted his head slightly, to hear for any movement. He knocked again.
No answer.
“Eugene?”
Still no response.
“I’m coming in Eugene,” Peter said, turning the knob. Surprisingly, it was unlocked.
Peter pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was shrouded in shadows, except for the slight bit of light seeping in through the blinds. The walls were white, but without but a bit of light, they gave off an illusion of slate grey. They were completely bare, except for the small single bed leaning against the wall to Peter’s left. In the small space left in the room to the right of the bed was only a small armchair. Peter remembered when Eugene had first moved into his apartment, so excited. They had even gone to several garage sales in the Park Slopes neighborhood of Brooklyn, and when Eugene had found the armchair, he had fallen in love. After paying twenty dollars for the torn thing, he brought it back to the apartment and placed it in his room.
Shortly after, he had been shot. He hadn’t bought furniture since.
The armchair was facing the window, and Peter saw Eugene’s elbows resting on the arms. Peter addressed Eugene’s back, “Eugene? You okay, man?”
Eugene stayed quite. “Eugene? I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since you were attacked. I heard that it was pretty bad,” Peter paused, “Apparently this kid died.” Peter faltered; he didn’t know what else to say. The last comment was his guilt slipping out. He shook his head to clear it.
Eugene shifted slightly, and the leather on the armchair made a soft sound from the rubbing of his body. “Eugene, listen. I know what you’re going through. More than anyone. You know me. I’ve lost so much, and…” Peter sighed, “Eugene, just talk to me, you know I can help.”
“I know you want to talk to me. I mean, you left the door unlocked…” he paused, and then continued, “I’m sure on some level that you wanted to talk. C’mon man. It’s me.” Peter stayed at the back of the chair. He wished Eugene would turn and face him, “It’s Peter.”
Peter stared at the armchair, when he heard a response.
“I forgot to lock the door,” Eugene finally said.
Peter’s shoulders drooped. He shook his head and started to walk out the door. He paused at the doorway, “Just holler if you need me.”
Silence. At last Eugene said, “Lock the door on your way out.”