The last thing I remembered was lying on my death bed, my body racked with terminal cancer, taking my final labored breaths. I closed my eyes, expecting oblivion. But instead, I opened them again to find myself standing in a small bedroom, looking down at my hands in shock. They were youthful, unblemished - not the gnarled, frail appendages of an old man.
Peering around, I realized with a jolt that I was in the bedroom of Peter Parker! The iconic Spider-Man posters adorned the walls. Had my soul been transported into Peter's body? I shook my head in disbelief. Surely this was a dream or a near-death hallucination.
Pinching myself provided little clarity. This bizarre experience felt viscerally real. Memories of Peter's life came flooding into my mind. Today was the day after he had been bitten by the radioactive spider at the science exhibit. My scalp tingled with a strange new sense - an acute spatial awareness that extended in a radius around me. I carefully stretched out my arm and released my grip, allowing my bookbag to slip from my fingers. In an instinct faster than thought, my body contorted and my feet clung to the ceiling by some incredible adhesive force.
I was Spider-Man! Or at least, I was inhabiting the body of the young Peter Parker right as he gained his arachnid-like abilities. This was astonishing and terrifying in equal measure.
A aunt's voice calling out from another room startled me, nearly making me lose my tenuous grip on the ceiling. "Peter? Is that you I heard come in? I'm making wheatcakes for breakfast!"
Despite my shock, I felt an unexpected warmth seeing Aunt May for the first time. She looked younger and more vibrant than her aged movie counterparts, but still mature and charming in her mid-forties. A grey streak accented her brunette hair. Regaining my composure, I unstuck myself from the ceiling and cautiously made my way downstairs.
"There's my favorite nephew!" May beamed, cupping my cheek affectionately. "You're just in time."
I smiled back, unsure what to say. Uncle Ben sat at the kitchen table, greeting me with a warm smile and nod over the newspaper.
After an awkward breakfast of buttered wheatcakes and small talk, I excused myself to get ready for school. I changed into fresh clothes, marveling at my lithe, athletic teenage body. When the yellow school bus rumbled into view outside the bedroom window, my stomach knotted with anxiety. Had I made a terrible mistake somehow stumbling into this world?
I hurried outside and down the driveway just as the bus began to pull away. "Wait!" I shouted, breaking into a sprint and easily catching up due to my newly enhanced speed. Grasping the handrail, I attempted to hoist myself aboard. But the metal handle detached with a sickening crack, and I found myself flung backwards onto the hard pavement of the street.
Raucous laughter erupted from the bus windows as the teenagers jeered and mocked me. "Loser! Freak! Get a car, Parker!"
Humiliated, I slowly picked myself up off the asphalt, wincing at the scrapes already forming on my palms and knees. My body may have been imbued with incredible powers, but I was still just a gawky, orphaned teenager to the cruel world around me. I sighed, suddenly missing my old life terribly. Being Spider-Man was going to be even harder than I thought.
As the bus pulled away, leaving me coughing in a cloud of exhaust fumes, I heard a familiar voice call out. "Pete? You okay, man?"
I turned to see Harry Osborn and his mother emerging from their sleek town car. Even at a young age, Harry's features bore an uncanny resemblance to his father Norman - the same piercing eyes and haughty demeanor. Mrs. Osborn on the other hand was almost disarmingly beautiful, radiating sophistication and elegance.
"Oh Peter, what happened?" she asked with perfectly-feigned concern, eyeing the scrapes on my hands and knees. Harry rolled his eyes beside her.
"Uh, nothing, Mrs. Osborn. I just...fell," I stammered, averting my gaze in embarrassment.
She tutted sympathetically. "You really must be more careful. We wouldn't want that perfect bone structure getting roughed up." Her eyes seemed to linger a little too long examining my face and body.
I felt my cheeks flush as Harry shot me a quizzical look. Mrs. Osborn's flirtatious undertones, even directed at a teenage boy, were blatant and disconcerting.
