//IronDad and SpiderSon Oneshots//

Migraine//20

Am I the only one I know

Peter walked down the lonely hall of Midtown Tech High in silence, no chatter of students or teachers, or anything really.

Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat

Peter walked into the classroom, his fingers touching the desks that had a thin layer of dust over it. He took a deep breath and stared at the board where a lesson was still written on the board.

Shadows will scream that I'm alone

The darkness of the room never faltered, no light tried to get in, save for the natural light of sun which even then covered by clouds. Shadows casted onto objects on the room tauntingly.

I-I-I I've got a migraine

Peter fell the floor clutching his head as he started to remember figments from the past. His fingers clawed at his scalp and blood dropped from his fingers.

And my pain will range from up, down, and sideways

The pain in his head was quite bipolar as sometimes it would seem like it would lessen and Peter could continue on with his day, but then suddenly sending him down the spiral of endless pain.

Thank God it's Friday cause Fridays will always be better than Sundays 'cause Sundays are my suicide days

As minuscule to people that date may be some people, Peter would never ever forget Sunday. The day friendships and lives went up in flames of utter fiery.

I don't know why they always seem so dismal
Thunderstorms, clouds, snow and a slight drizzle

Peter gulped in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He glanced out the window trying to distract himself from the migraine in his head. Cloudy day with slight drizzle.

Whether it's the weather or the letters by my bed, sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head

Peter took a shuddering breath, wishing he had gone too. He even prepared for such disaster, by writing his will, giving away his possessions and giving thank you to his friends and family, not that he knew nobody would survive what had happened.

Let it be said what the headache represents, it's me defending in suspense, it's me suspended in a defenseless test, being tested by a ruthless examiner, that's represented best by my depressing thoughts

His mind was at war—fighting for peace and or the destruction of his very own mind. His thoughts were against him as if they wanted him dead.

I do not have writer's block my writer just hates the clock

Peter stood up from his place on the classroom floor and stumbled out of the classroom, entering the next classroom over.

It will not let me sleep I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead and sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head

Peter looked down at desks with half written poems about everything—from family adventures to pondering of death itself. Although the words mostly blurred together from Peter's lack of sleep and home, he could mostly make out names of the papers.

Am I the only one I know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat

Peter wanted to rip up some papers into shreds because of how they made his made scatter and stumble. Made his head ache with memories.

Shadows will scream that I'm alone

Peter continued to rip up every paper. He took a backward step toward the door and tried to stop the onslaught of tears that were waiting to burst out of his eyes. He was alone.