A soft drip sound echoed in the alleyways as a young boy ran through the city in the dark. An eerie orange glow casted shadows along the pavement and served as a reminder to the child of his demons yet to be faced. Thunder sounded above and with each booming noise, his heart pounded against his rib cage, beating to the rhythm of the storm. A crackling streak of light lit up the sky only to be encompassed by the dark once more.

All Peter knew was that he had to run far and fast, his bare feet ached against the hard surface of the road, blood dripping down his head from an earlier beating. Pain was the key to escaping, but it was a selfish act. He continued to run, yearning for the dreadful events of a year ago that day to wash away like his blood in the rain. Yet blood on the heart and in the soul never did get washed clean, he was scarred by the evil actions of others and his lack of ability to protect the only family that was left.

A year ago May had died in his arms.

Shot in the chest by a drug addict who acted out of impulse shortly before he passed from his overdose mistake. Peter knew somewhere in his heart that the man was far beyond conscious recognition and unfazed by his cruel actions as he took his final breaths foaming at the mouth.

Peter had failed.

His last living relative gone in a storm similar to the one overhead, and a man who died not ten steps away from him as his hands became coated in blood from the already dead angel in his arms.

May didn't have to raise Peter but she had. She didn't have to be accepting of his weird abilities but she was. She didn't have to love him but even in her final breaths she did. A truth Peter felt undeserving to know of, and a truth that weighed heavily on his heart every second of time that passed.

A year ago May had died in his arms, and tonight Peter couldn't help but beg any and all powers at be to let him be loved once more.

His foster guardian claimed that she loved him as she rose the belt above her head and cracked it along his fragile cheek.

"I only do this because I love you and no child under my care will be less than perfect"

Peter was a good student, already in the 9th grade at only 12 years old, but he was bullied constantly and was called into the principal's office for skipping first period after receiving a beating in the bathroom. The principal seemed concerned at his bloody face and called his guardian on file, yet Miss Carter only recognized the call from the principal as a less than perfect outcome and one that deserved nightly lashings as a lasting punishment.

After a year of pursuing perfection only to be rewarded with pain, Peter ran from the house and disappeared into the streets as memories of his aunt's love and warmth mocked him for thinking that he even deserved to be loved in the first place.

Peter was a failure.

His small frame shook in the storm as tears and rain mixed together along his face. All he knew how to do was run far away from Queens and to keep running until his strange body finally decided to fall.