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Writing

Waterbug

This is the introduction to what may become a longer story.


He was dragging himself through the window, sodden foot sliding as it sought purchase on the sill, when that old familiar tingle registered at the back of his mind. In an instant he dropped into a somersault that brought him the rest of the way into the room, just as a creak on the stair reinforced his immediate dilemma.

He tore at the mask, wrestled his arms and chest free of soggy blue and red, and cast about for something to hide his legs.

The comforter from his bed would have to do. Thwip!

No sooner had he embedded himself in folds of fabric than the door squeaked open and in came Aunt May with an armload of laundry.

“Peter!” she gasped upon seeing him. “When did you get home? I thought you were out studying.”

He shivered involuntarily, and her eyes went to the drops of water clinging to the tips of his hair. “What on earth?” she said. “Why are you all wet?”

“Um…shower?” said Peter Parker, adjusting the blanket on his shoulders and glancing quickly down to make sure his feet weren’t visible.

“If you’ve just taken a shower, Peter, you didn’t do a very good job.” Aunt May’s nose screwed up as she set the neatly folded laundry on Peter’s desk chair. “What is that awful smell?”

He could hardly tell her the truth, so he shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, Aunt May. I’ll try again.”

“You do that, Peter.” Aunt May turned to leave, giving him one last sidelong glance. “And this time, try using a towel.”