Stories Focussed On Spider-Man

Preview

"Spider-Man, he rubs everyone as an open book, but no one actually knows a thing about him."

A boy's eyes shoot open, his breathing heaving. He sits for a moment, taking in the world and collecting himself for the day. His neighbor, the one that lives two floors above him, was listening to his morning country music again. The woman who lived to the right of the aforementioned neighbor had turned on the news and was making tea.

"He arose in a time where vigilantes weren't uncommon - about a year ago."

The boy, a teenager, rubbed his eyes and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and letting his light blue covers fall around him. He had slept in nothing but his boxers, so he stumbled over to his dresser, still groggy.

"Most of the vigilantes were normal people who felt invincible."

He slipped on a pair of jeans and fashioned the belt around his waist. He yanked a white t-shirt out of the top drawer in the wooden storage unit, strolling over to the body-length mirror perched in the corner of his whitewash bedroom. He took it all in: his shaggy brown hair and annoyingly long bangs that he would need to cut soon, his lackadaisical blue irises, which seemed to possess and age that the rest of him did not, his paper-like skin and the age-old lacerations that had healed over on his body, thankfully none on were on his face. He had abs, too. Not that he really noticed or cared about those anymore. He had a well-defined figure, but he found that certain clothing choices would hide his true structure.

"Spider-Man was the exception."

He shrugged on his loose t-shirt and walked over to his closer, grabbing a blue button-up and purporting it as a jacket. He took a deep breath, grounding himself. He had only been awake for several minutes, yet an onslaught of input was jeering his way. He found himself standing in front of the blank door, hand hovering above the handle. He eyed something in the corner of his vision.

"He was someone stronger, someone greater, someone wittier than the rest."

A flash of red and blue had caught his eye. Sighing once more, he trotted over and jammed it to the back of his closet, stuffing it inside a miscellaneous bag he spotted there. He turned his attention back to the room's exit once he had completed the menial task.

"Despite all this bravery and valor, he was humble, never searching for praise or seeking out reward."

Opening the door, he forced his senses to clear, forcing the extra range to take a hike for the time being. It was too early to deal with the New York crazies.

"He proved, time and time again, that he actual cared about who he was protecting; he showed compassion to the 'little guy.'"

Jogging to the kitchen, he pulled out a large, lucid blue bowl and filled it with flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder. He sifted them together before incorporating milk, melted butter, and cracking an egg. He let himself get lost in the rhythmic stirring.

"He was brave, putting himself at risk when the police force or other vigilantes thought it best to step back."

He turned on the stove and retrieved a frying pan, carefully crafting each delicious and delicate disk of homey goodness and flavor. He took in the smells, blocking out the burning of bacon three blocks down and the torrent of fragrances emitted from the flower cart down the street. He grounded himself once more. Breakfast. He was making breakfast.

"Even though he admitted to being a rookie who didn't quite know what he was doing yet, he wouldn't let up."

He stacked a plate full of pancakes, about seven of them, and pushed it off to the side. He placed two more on a separate dish, the recipient of the latter strutting into the room with as much grace as anyone could manage with only four hours of rest. He could hear her heart beating when she awoke, the way it increased slightly in pace when she regained consciousness each morning  was a familiar reminder that he wasn't alone. He often felt alone, but her footsteps into the premises vacated the notion as she swaggered in.

"Speculation said that he eventually found someone to show him the ropes, and that he actually listened to the mentor."

He turned to face the woman who raised him, giving her a soft smile, which she returned. Her short, greying hair was knotted from just having woken up. Her eyes were just as sapphire, if not more, than his, and her complexion was slightly darker than his, though not by much. She was in an old baby pink night gown that flowed down to her knees. A pair of white fuzzy slippers protected her sensitive feet from the cold hardwood floor.

"That's what made him different, those qualities, traits, and actions."

The duo sat there, encompassed in their companionship and enjoying the little time that they had to spend together. He caught her up on the goings on of school. She caught him up on the latest of her busy hospital life. Stories were exchanged, and laughs were had.

"They set him apart from the rest of the so-called 'heroes,' making Spider-Man a different breed of a man entirely."

Eventually, the woman stood, excusing herself to get ready for work, despite it being the weekend. As she exited, the boy ground his nails into his palms, once again fighting off the onslaught of sound being hurled his way. He turned around and began to fill the sink in water, absolutely enamored with the calming frequency emitted.

"Spider-Man was the person the public needed, the person who cared."

"Aunt May, I'm going to head out while you're at work."

"Okay, Peter, stay safe."

"Spider-Man was - and still is - a hero."

Retrieving the red and blue spandex he had stuffed in his closet, the teenager changed into the bright costume, sneaking out the window. Minutes later, the figure of Spider-Man was seen webbing his way through the city.

A/N this is the prologue to a story that'll be out after I finish Tower of Secrets. I tried a different style for this because I wanted to mood to be a little different compared to usual. Thoughts?