They were 'living', yes. Living day to day, just existing. But was she alive? She doubted that much.
In any case, Lindsey Lowe never saw herself as anyone particularly special. She was no Tony Stark, she was no Quentin Beck or Tom Hawke. She was just Lindsey Lowe, the post-graduate journalist from 'some school in the south' who moved to the Big Apple because she wanted to be like all the other post-grad journalists and try and make it in the big league.
She was special to some people; her mother and step-father cared for her very much. Her father, though deceased shortly after her birth, cared very much for her too. The ring she had from her first boyfriend reminded her someone had cared for her, but the distance was something neither of them thought they could realistically deal with. Still, they moved on with their lives, ending up in different places. And there in her apartment in the city, at two thirty-nine p.m, after a five hour shift at Megatokyo, she received a call.
Three days ago.
The call was from a lesser known news outlet, and what they wanted was for her to attend the presidential speeches being held in three days' time and assist the news crew there;
“Times are tumultuous.”, they said, “And we would have called you sooner, only with the elections and things we've been really struggling to play the same game as the likes of DB and Mojo News.”
Naturally, Lindsey Lowe agreed with them! Of course she did, it was perfectly understandable why they couldn't make the time! It was, after all, an ever spinning world. The press didn't stop for sleep, she knew that. More than anything she was happy they'd called and told her that, “If you leave a good impression then we'd be more than happy to offer you a permanent place on our team.”
She agreed. She thanked them. She hung up.
That was three days ago.
The choked up cough Lindsey Lowe managed was one of amusement. Amusement not that her first day doing her dream job had ended up getting her shot down and lying in a small pool of her own blood, cradling a leaking hole in her stomach – though, as an afterthought, she found this somewhat amusing also – but that she'd spent her whole life worrying about getting there. Getting to the place where there'd be a great story, where she'd be able to finally earn that place closer to the 'limelight', and it was robbed from her by some gun-toting terrorist.
The tears that followed this were those of two things:
Fear; as she had just been shot and was facing the possibility of dying, cold and in agony, with only the screams of terror and panic from others to keep her company.
She had just wanted to be someone. To achieve. To do something with the time she had to make her parents proud...
...she'd never, ever see them again...
There was a soft screeching sound that preceded her ears ringing back to life, catching only the last part of another girl's sentence as she spoke;
“...-re you alright? Can you hear me?”
Lindsey nodded slowly, lip trembling at the effort it took to do so. At the brightness and the blurry faces all around her. She was alone and she didn't know who these people were.
“Is she going to be alright?”
The first girl's voice. Her face naught but a blur of red and white, her dress red and either blue or black.
“She's lost a lot of blood, but she's stable.”
A man's voice. Face a blur also, but wearing white.
“I'll let you take care of her, there's three more to get out.”
The first girl left.
Lindsey let her eyes roll back and gave way to the dark. She was ever so tired.
They wouldn't mind if she rested for a while.
“Hey, you're awake, huh?”
Lindsey's eyes twitched, her visual and auditory senses restoring themselves slowly as she looked around the hospital room. She smiled gently as she felt the comforting embrace of the cushions behind her neck and back, the softness of the sheets, the beep of the IV letting her know that she was very much alive. On the T.V a re-run of Seinfeld. She let out a soft breath at the joke; she liked Seinfeld.
Who's was the voice? It sounded somehow familiar.
“It's alright...”, the red haired girl smiled at her, resting a re-assuring hand on her shoulder, gentle as the sheets were against her bare legs, “You probably don't remember me.”
Looking past a stray lock of her brown hair, Lindsey swallowed as she looked into the girl's blue eyes. She recalled that voice, and with it, all the horrible things that had transpired. She opened her mouth, words stuck in her throat as her brain jolted into action, wanting to ask every one of its many, many questions at once. She bit her lip for a moment, her own hand meeting the red-headed girls' on her shoulder.
“Am I alive?”, she managed, grip tight.
The redheads' smile grew as she nodded, “Yes, Lindsey.”, she assured her, “You are.”
Lindsey Lowe eventually learned that her mysterious scarlet-haired saviour was the Spider-Girl. However, she had insisted to Lindsey that this was not who she was. She said she was like Lindsey; she was young, working a job, trying to make it somehow, trying to be someone special. She told Lindsey in confidence that her name was Mayday Parker. That she was a lesbian, that she was twenty, that she worked at Big Time Comics, and that as a person, she was one of many other people. She insisted that it was what she did, not who she was, that defined her.
She made a joke about how that was a line from a Batman movie.
She then went on to say that this was her point: it was things like that which contributed to the special person she was. That the title she had, or what other people thought of her, were not of any importance when compared to who she was, and what that meant to the people she loved (of which were many, even just those who knew her by her 'superhero name').
Needless to say there were tears of joy and fulfilment when Lindsey's parents entered the room, and Mayday stood aside, simply smiling at how beautiful it was to watch a family reunited, even after the tragedy that had befallen the nation. If not the entire world. There was some small victory to be had here, in this hospital room in New York, at two thirty nine p.m.
Lindsey Lowe made her saviour a promise. She would not be the girl who 'had been saved by Spider Girl', but instead she'd be Lindsey Lowe, friend of Mayday Parker. A special person who was loved and cared for even by a red haired girl she'd just met. She'd call back the news firm and make sure she said her piece on the story, and then do whatever she could to help all the people who suffered in the wake of the terrorist attack.
All she needed was for one person to remind her that she was alive.
The same life, but a different perspective.