Elegy for Gwen Stacy Spider-Man appeared…I knew he would save her. That was what they did. They saved innocents. – Phil Sheldon from Marvels #4 I can't stop dying. The first time was 1973 – fell off the Brooklyn Bridge, k**ed by my lover as he tried to catch me with his webs. It was an accident, he didn't understand terminal velocity, sudden stops, whiplash. It wasn't the Green Goblin who k**ed me, or the falling, but my hero. Some people never forget the way you laugh or the way your body burns as you walk away. People never forgot the way I died. They told their friends, re-read those issues until the staples fell out and fingerprints dulled the covers. I died a lot in 1987. Peter got married that same year. I still get thank-you letters from people who claim if it wasn't for me, they would have closed this world off, abandoned it like so many highway gas stations. But it's not me. I didn't restore their faith in the funny books. It's my dying. Always my dying.