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Future Ladysweet lips of violet
unforgiving skin of steel
glimmering hair of bronze
how can I know that you're real?
could you lend me your tin heart
you can have my kerchief of silk
to wipe away your tears of titanium
how can I know that you're real?
I've given you my paper mache trust
so that you may toss away your limestone jealousy
you're beautiful on the outside, future lady
but how can I know that you're real?
The Amazing Spider-Man: Aftermath Chapter EightPeter had always loved Japanese restaurants, the food was great, everyone was always so nice, and he had a faint memory of going to one with his parents as a kid.
When the three arrived at the the restaurant Uncle Adam insisted they sat around a grill, even though it scared his sister. With a smile, he teased his sister about her fear of sharp objects.
"It's not the knives I'm scared of Adam, more so their being thrown around." Was her indignant reply.
Shortly after they ordered the chef came out and turned on the grill. He played around with the knife and metal spatula for a little while, then pulled out his various cooking oils, seasonings and a carton of eggs with a bowl of pre-cooked rice. He spun the eggs around on the grill, threw one up with the spatula and caught it in his hat, and tried to do a sort of juggling with two spatulas. An egg went flying, and Peter, on instinct, lurched forward and grabbed it before it hit the table in front of Uncle Adam.
Uncle Adam blinked, eyebro
The Amazing Spider-Man: Aftermath Chapter SevenPeter opened his eyes and heard a sound that startled him. It took him a moment to realize that it was his own moan. He felt like he'd been run over by a freight train and then been tumble dried on low for an hour. Every part of his body ached, yet he felt numb. His head throbbed and his eyes protested against the little bit of light coming from a lamp. Once he was able to get his eyes to focus somewhat, he realized he was in a hospital room. His hands clenched into fists.
Okay, I don't know why I'm here. Just don't freak out, it's just a hospital.
Peter slowly took in as much of his surroundings as he could without moving his stiff neck. It was a fairly small, generic hospital room. Which he would have been fine with, if he could remember how he had gotten there. Peter strained to remember anything, and finally came up with the gargoyle, the one he named Bruce. That was the last significant thing he remembered.
He put a hand to his head and sighed heavily. He felt banda
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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