and drain dry. Unfortu nately nothing seemed to be cooperating. No flies or insects of any kind were presenting themselves as an entree, and the smallest was beginning to go mad with hunger.
And something else was disrupting the poor creature — thunderous vibrations from the—from the whatever they were — a far distance below, which were no doubt serving to drive any potential meals away from the web.
The creature did not know, could not experience such emotions as anger. But as it became more and more fam ished, its frustration level built and built....
The picture, and the opportunity, could not have pre sented itself more perfectly.
There was Mary Jane, looking into the glass case, check ing out her makeup. It was hard for Peter to believe that she saw any need to take such measures. She was perfect; how could she conceivably improve upon herself? But he didn't question it too closely, because he was busy seizing the chance that had been tossed his way.
A few quick steps and he was by her side. He said, "Can I take your picture? I need one with a student in it."
Mary Jane turned to look at him, and Peter felt as if he was being pulled completely out of the depressing, frustrating world inhabited by Peter "Big Brain Loser" Parker and into the sphere where dwelt the magnificence that was Mary
Jane. It was a happy, glorious place, and he was pleased just to be the most transient of tourists there.
In response, she immediately struck a pose, hiding a small smile behind the practiced pout of a model. She flipped her hair back, eyed the camera as she would a lover, and said in a playfully sulky voice, "Don't make me ugly!"
"Impossible," Peter scoffed, gazing at her through the viewfinder. He could have remained that way all day, but he felt he had to be thoroughly professional. "Right there ... good!" He snapped a picture, and the autowind shot for ward. "And one more—!"
Except she had vanished from his viewfinder. She had moved out of frame, drifting toward a group of her friends. "Thanks," Peter called after her. He'd gotten her to smile at him, even if only for a photo. This was turning into a mem orable day.
The spider had lost its mind.
It wasn't as if it had a large mind to begin with, but hunger had overridden its desire for caution. Eat eat eat was the imperative hammering through it, and it decided to go on a hunt, rather than wait for something unwary to come to it.
There was a target just below it. Its spinnerets lowered it gracefully down, closer to its prey. Had the spider been thinking properly, it would have gotten nowhere near this . . . this monster. This gigantic thing. But the spider was only concerned about making a last ditch effort to fill its belly, and when it lunged at its prey, it had no clue that it was the last conscious effort it would ever make. . . .
"Ow!" Peter yelped.
He had just been turning to look at a huge display of elec tron microscopes when a sharp pain had gotten him in the right hand. Instinctively he'd snapped his wrist, and he
caught out of the corner of his eye some sort of . . . of bug. An insect. A mosquito, perhaps?
Peter held up the back of his hand and saw two tiny red marks flaring up on it. There was a moment of morbid amuse ment as he wondered if he'd been assaulted by the world's tini est vampire, and then he saw a brief movement on the floor. He looked down, his eyes narrowing, as he watched what ap peared to be a spider flip over onto its back, its legs curling up like something out of a commercial for Raid.
A spider . . .
Peter Parker felt a surge of momentary panic as he looked back in the direction of the spider tank. There had seemed to be some confusion as to whether there were fourteen or fif teen spiders. Could one of them have escaped? And ... and could this be it? If he'd been bitten by some sort of geneti cally mutated spider . . . it could make him sick as anything.
Thoughts of blood poisoning tumbled through his head, and he moaned
And something else was disrupting the poor creature — thunderous vibrations from the—from the whatever they were — a far distance below, which were no doubt serving to drive any potential meals away from the web.
The creature did not know, could not experience such emotions as anger. But as it became more and more fam ished, its frustration level built and built....
The picture, and the opportunity, could not have pre sented itself more perfectly.
There was Mary Jane, looking into the glass case, check ing out her makeup. It was hard for Peter to believe that she saw any need to take such measures. She was perfect; how could she conceivably improve upon herself? But he didn't question it too closely, because he was busy seizing the chance that had been tossed his way.
A few quick steps and he was by her side. He said, "Can I take your picture? I need one with a student in it."
Mary Jane turned to look at him, and Peter felt as if he was being pulled completely out of the depressing, frustrating world inhabited by Peter "Big Brain Loser" Parker and into the sphere where dwelt the magnificence that was Mary
Jane. It was a happy, glorious place, and he was pleased just to be the most transient of tourists there.
In response, she immediately struck a pose, hiding a small smile behind the practiced pout of a model. She flipped her hair back, eyed the camera as she would a lover, and said in a playfully sulky voice, "Don't make me ugly!"
"Impossible," Peter scoffed, gazing at her through the viewfinder. He could have remained that way all day, but he felt he had to be thoroughly professional. "Right there ... good!" He snapped a picture, and the autowind shot for ward. "And one more—!"
Except she had vanished from his viewfinder. She had moved out of frame, drifting toward a group of her friends. "Thanks," Peter called after her. He'd gotten her to smile at him, even if only for a photo. This was turning into a mem orable day.
The spider had lost its mind.
It wasn't as if it had a large mind to begin with, but hunger had overridden its desire for caution. Eat eat eat was the imperative hammering through it, and it decided to go on a hunt, rather than wait for something unwary to come to it.
There was a target just below it. Its spinnerets lowered it gracefully down, closer to its prey. Had the spider been thinking properly, it would have gotten nowhere near this . . . this monster. This gigantic thing. But the spider was only concerned about making a last ditch effort to fill its belly, and when it lunged at its prey, it had no clue that it was the last conscious effort it would ever make. . . .
"Ow!" Peter yelped.
He had just been turning to look at a huge display of elec tron microscopes when a sharp pain had gotten him in the right hand. Instinctively he'd snapped his wrist, and he
caught out of the corner of his eye some sort of . . . of bug. An insect. A mosquito, perhaps?
Peter held up the back of his hand and saw two tiny red marks flaring up on it. There was a moment of morbid amuse ment as he wondered if he'd been assaulted by the world's tini est vampire, and then he saw a brief movement on the floor. He looked down, his eyes narrowing, as he watched what ap peared to be a spider flip over onto its back, its legs curling up like something out of a commercial for Raid.
A spider . . .
Peter Parker felt a surge of momentary panic as he looked back in the direction of the spider tank. There had seemed to be some confusion as to whether there were fourteen or fif teen spiders. Could one of them have escaped? And ... and could this be it? If he'd been bitten by some sort of geneti cally mutated spider . . . it could make him sick as anything.
Thoughts of blood poisoning tumbled through his head, and he moaned
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