sunset | ma elite

#maelite

ty for the feature

"Tony Stark," said a man whose name Stark didn't know, who wore a face he didn't recognize. "It's been a minute."

"I suppose it has," Stark raised his wine, seeing the other man's glass. The man raised it back.

The man narrowed his eyes, "You don't me, do you?"

Stark put his wine to his mouth, shaking his head.

The man sighed, "Oh well," he approached Stark, standing beside him, leaning on the same ledge Stark was leaning on, looking down at the boats, swaying peacefully in the gentle waters, brushed by the delicate breeze. "It doesn't matter now."

A moment ed. "One of those yours?" Stark asked, motioning toward the boats.

The man nodded, "Yeah. All of them."

Stark huffed, impressed. "No shit."

"None," the man handed Stark a card. A business card. "I trust we'll be seeing each other again in the coming days. Have a good evening, Tony."

And just like that, the man left, effectively leaving Tony's mind rushing, "Maybe." He managed. The man had taken him off guard.

What now?, Tony wondered. No time to catch a break, no time. Look at where I am. LOOK at where I am!

He looked out towards the sea, golden beneath a shower of orange sunlight. He was wearing sandals, some kaki shorts, and a loose white T-shirt. Typical rich guy.

Behind him, he heard the crowd cheering. In the distance, a roaring sound was beginning to make its way echoing down the street. Almost like a screaming sound.

And then, there it was. A ferocious looking bullet of a car, colored Rosso Corsa, came shooting down the street like a whizzing bullet, followed by two more like it, that were not quite as fast and not quite as red.

The wind that slapped Tony and the others as the cars flew by was madly satisfying amidst the heat of the island, but once it was gone, Tony had no real reason to stay here.

He decided to go down to the beach.

Peter approached the shoreline in Rockaway Beach. There was no one else here today, allowing for a quiet appreciation of the sunset. Which is what he needed.

He damn near fell on his knees. He took his torn mask off, revealing his badly bruised face, and threw it aside.

Behind him, Queens was a sore sight to witness. Buildings that appeared nearly split in two, letting out massive clouds of smoke, showing the flickering flames licking the ruins.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

In the distance.

Peter felt the gentle sea water brush his knees, covering the sand around him with foam. He fell sideways, laying down on the warm sand, staring at the sun in the distance— a bright orange ball. He closed his eyes, and felt water splash on his mask.

"Peter."

No more than a whisper. Brushed by. Came and went with the wave. He was too tired to react.

The wave came to meet his masked head once more, and once again, it came and went with the wave.

"Easy, Peter."

Peter, confused and curious, dragged himself to the water. The voice, however bizarre, was oddly soothing. He wanted more of it. More of its ocean words.

The water came over him like a blanket as he gently and slowly inched towards it.

"Peter. Be still. You can rest now."

Peter mind started to rush with questions, but he forced it to stop when he felt a small migraine building.

"Still your mind. It doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. Rest, Spider-Man. Rest."

Rest.

His time had come. He knew it better than anyone, even Mariko, who sat there, eyes red and puffy. She'd been crying, but now she was numb. They both were.

It was difficult to understand. Death. After countless times being placed in situation he should not have walked out of... and walking out of them, seemingly unharmed, the permanence of death was daunting. It was incomprehensible.

Hundreds of years. Hundreds of scars. Gallons of blood. Gallons of tears. And it all comes down to this. It was suffocating.

The adamantium, slowly enclosing him in a lethal exoskeleton, reflected the orange light of the sunset. It felt cold against his skin, slowly crawling over his entire body to cover it completely, until he burst inside, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly within a chrysalis, though it would never emerge.

Off the shores of Okinawa, just out of the jungle, beneath a Torii gate, it was all so poetic. Mariko held him from behind, and he held her hand, closing his eyes.

It could all be so beautiful. Instead, it was deeply tragic. But who says tragedy can't be beautiful?

"Mariko?" said the Wolverine, but to her, he was Logan Howlett.

"Yes, Logan-san?" said Mariko Yoshida.

"I will long for you in my sleep," said Logan. "And this heart will belong for you for all eternity."

"And my eyes will only soften for you," said Yoshida. "Until the stars become as dark as the night."

Dying in his lovers arms, beholding a beautiful golden sunset, it was time. He was glad it had ended like this.

夕焼けに包まれて、時が止まる

embraced by the sunset, time stands still

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