I breathe.
You know, the typical, inhale, exhale.
It's tricky at first, although a few seconds is enough to worry me.
I don't know why it was difficult to begin with, maybe it's because it's early.
Is it early?
I don't know, it's just superstition.
Since my whole room is dark, I only know that I'm lying down.
I'd like to open my eyes but they're glued shut, as if the grime has become a tough dirt glue, yes, it's disgusting, don't even mention it.
As much as I want to talk I feel as if my mouth has stuck from the long time it has been closed, I also feel a little thirsty.
So I do the logical thing, I move, specifically my feet and hands, but I realize something ...something really bad.
It turns out that as I try to move my feet I find that I'm in some kind of box.
I try to reach my face but it's complicated, the box doesn't allow me to move much, although with some effort I manage to get my arms on top of my chest.
As much as I want to be hopeful, nothing tells me that this situation is not one of the bad ones.
So if it is that I expect the worst, then this means I have been buried alive. And I am underground.
How do I know? Simple, there is no one around me, I am unable to hear things outside my coffin, the dirt must be from the time I have been asleep, same case with my mouth.
And no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I scream, the reality is that no one will come to help me...
Why am I not falling into madness?
I guess because I feel that if I sleep again, it wouldn't be much different than dying.
"Hey, Peter.."
What?
"Isn't that Mary Jane over there?"
Who's Mary Jane?
..
"Doesn't she look fabulous today, boy?"
Mary Jane... I'm familiar with that name, I think I've heard it before.
"He's very quiet."
That's another woman, it's a warm voice, just like a mother's, or a mother figure rocking you in her arms and protecting you from evil.
"He's thinking, leave him alone."
Again that male voice, for some reason I feel like I know them.
Yes..
Of course I know them!
—C-cough, cough, U-uncle....
Finally, my voice comes out.
It's not how I remembered it, but somehow it feels... right. It's familiar, that's for sure.
Thanks to what happened, whatever it was, it brought me back, now back I still feel incomplete but I could start by trying to get out.
Luckily, I won't have any problems with glasses because of this thing known as gunk covering my damn eyes.
—Now.
That's all I say to myself before slowly punching upwards, knowing that this will throw all the dirt towards my face, not that I care for now.
But nothing will stop me... I'll get through this.
After all, I feel better than ever.
×××××
The wind is calm, it's a sad night for many, joyful for others.
And in a cemetery, only the wind comforts the poor dead, whether they were the good or the bad. All those who had money, or someone to use it on them, would end up there. At least they are lucky to have a grave, as there are people who can't even get that.
So it was that slowly, in front of a lonely grave next to a tree, something began to come out of the earth itself. Just like a plant, just like a mole, this is how nature acts, coming out of itself, a way of acting of the planet in front of what it has in itself presents itself.
— ¡-----------!
An unintelligible scream is the first thing that is heard, which little by little is understood more and more, and in the end, the earth moves and from there something different emerges.
Something human.
No, rather, the correct word would be...
Mutant.
Soon, the wind became stronger than ever, like the harbinger of a thunderstorm, and there he was, this person who had come out of the earth itself. Just like those Zombies that people like to speculate about so much.
Why mutant?
That was simple.
That boy's body was no longer normal.
Yes no, look at his forearms, for from there came out stingers as big as the boy's arm, but at the same time, strong and white as anyone's bones. With these it was more than easy to remove the dirt from them by rubbing them with his eyes.
—That's... that's new.
That's all the boy can say as he looks at his new stingers, which soon return to nothingness itself, as if they had never been there.
—The good thing is... they don't hurt at all.
Looking around, the young man notices that it is night, and soon he crosses his arms and rubs them with his hands, after all, the only clothes he had on was a rather old suit, although he liked the suit, somehow he felt comfortable in it.
Then the boy got up from the ground and stood up after a long time, falling on his butt on the ground, staring at the crypt in front of him.
—Peter Parker... That... That's me? Is Peter my name?
Suddenly, a severe headache hit the boy, and a flood of memories hit him. Images, of all kinds, horrible things that had happened to him, that were happening to him, that would never happen to him, and which would be his future.
Do you know which was the most terrifying of all for Peter? The death of his Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Multiple times, he saw them die so many times that he felt it was all a joke.
The most logical thing to do was to scream in pain, banging his head against the grass that was now starting to get wet. Peter felt almost broken, as if everything around him was screaming in pain and only he could hear it.
But, slowly the pain stopped, and all he could hear was the sound of the rain falling on top of him.
It was soothing, if Peter had to describe it it would be like the gentle touch of God himself on his body.
—R-rain.
Peter blurted out those words as the rain was only visible through an abandoned lamppost.
Stretching his arms out to his sides, Peter's suit got wet but he cared little for that detail, no, rather his attention was fixed on the fact that he was no longer suffering from the horrible images that haunted him seconds ago.
—I'd better... I'd better go.
Peter then grabbed a shovel near one of the open graves, from which point the boy then covered his own grave, for something told him that it would not be best for anyone to know that he had been resurrected.
The images may have been thousands, but these powers he had begun to awaken had made only one thing clear to Parker, and that was this:
No one would benefit from being with him.
The images showed everyone from his aunt and uncle, his parents, everyone he knew, even people he didn't know right now, all dying. Peter for this reason decided that it was better to go on his own, to "stay" dead for now was the best thing to do.
In particular, Peter to feel complete he needed materials to create something specific.
—Suit... perfection.
Despite the incoherent ramblings, Peter was simply thinking out loud right now, so he finished covering his grave and started to wander around the cemetery in search of a back exit.
Not finding one, the newly resurrected man decided to jump, and despite his beliefs, his jump was strong enough to launch him into the air and land him on the roof of a building, observing the city from there, Peter could see many things, as well as hear them, a lot of noise in his opinion, but somehow this was familiar to him.
Suddenly, it was a cry for help coming from a distant place that caught Peter's attention.
For some reason, he didn't know who the voice belonged to, but his heart was pounding at the thought of heading in that direction, as if it would answer him without words. So Peter jumped down from the rooftop and grabbed a black cloak that was previously hanging on ropes, possibly forgotten by its original owners. Anyway, the resurrected man stood on the alley and looked around, using his ears to find what he needed as he began to take his first steps on wet cement.
Moving from alley to alley, it was at one point that Parker stopped, as a crowd had gathered, and it was there that Peter managed to visualise a man in a purple jacket and white hair with guns of ...Sound? Then, guns pointed at uniformed men protecting a van with money.
—Will anyone do anything?—Asks a passer-by woman, to which a black man, also a passer-by, replies—. What else can be done? It's not like we can stop it...
Somehow, the young man felt he must interfere, so he took steps to make way for a dash that would end with a leap straight at the thief red-handed.
—Now give me the whole mo--!
Before the grey-haired man could say anything, a double kick to his face sent him flying to the ground, sending his back slamming into a car, dropping one of the two pistols in his hands in a slip.
—AGH!
On the other hand, the guards open their eyes and can see a figure not too tall, but not too small either, a black cloak makes it difficult to see his face, his fists are clenched, and above all, the figure says nothing, in another context, one would expect a vigilante with a loud speaker for a mouth, but no, this one didn't say a word.
—W-who the hell are you supposed to be?—Asks the criminal to which the figure standing on the ground doesn't answer, jumping again to land on the roof of the car, right behind the enemy of the law—. . . . . FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!
The criminal tries to fire the sound again, but a spider web covers the gun, causing it to spark and in a few seconds it explodes in his hand, severely wounding it.
—AHHH MY FUCKING HAND, I DAMN YOU!
Despite everything, the figure still says nothing, or at least for now, and without hesitation jumps again, now throwing another double kick straight at the criminal's head, now knocking him out once and for all. After this more webbing surrounds the criminal's body, entangling him so that he can't run away.
With the situation under control, the figure looks at everyone around him and then back at the guards, who are somewhat intimidated, so they say the slyest thing they can think of.
—Take it all, the money is yours! Just don't harm us!
Despite the guard's words, the figure doesn't move, or was until he utters his first word to the audience, which sounds like someone who is hoarse, and says the following:
—No. Thank you.
After these statements the figure crouches down and jumps out again into the rainy night, leaving everyone both surprised and confused.
Alone as if he were the only one of his kind, the resurrected one stood on the top of a rooftop, looking out over the city that was now his to protect. Why did he do this? Because for now, there was nothing else left, he was only doing it because that was what his heart told him to. Waiting for an answer he would keep walking down that dark tunnel called life until he could find a reason why he came back.
Although he already had an idea of how to go on, because his ideas might not be the best, but his memories did not lie, he fervently believed that.
So his next target was his inheritance, the strange memory said that this would be his sooner or later, so why not prevent than cure?