Peter Parker - Sg

2017. New York. Queens.

The evening city was suffocated by a neon haze and the constant blare of sirens. For millions, it was a city of opportunity, but for me, Gwen, it felt like a vast machine that sometimes forgot to oil its gears. It's easy to feel tiny here, especially if you don't fit the mold.

My world had shrunk to the size of our small, cozy apartment, smelling of strong coffee and old leather. My only close friend was Uncle Aaron. He was my rock. While others looked at me with pity or indifference, Aaron saw potential in me. His favorite pastime? Exploring abandoned subway lines, those long-forgotten arteries of the city.

— Watch your step, Gwenny.

His voice was always soft as we made our way through the rusty tunnels, flashlights lighting the way.

— Here, under layers of dust, the real history is hidden.

I clutched the old, worn photograph tightly in my pocket—the only trace of my parents. They had been gone so long ago that their faces were like blurry watercolors in my memory. I wasn't angry with them. My heart was too soft for hatred; I simply hoped that wherever they were, they were doing well.