The rebirth.

My life felt utterly destroyed the moment I realized I wasn't excelling in anything. It seemed that every pursuit I undertook was a waste of time, leaving me with nothing but lost hours and unfulfilled aspirations. By the time I started to address these shortcomings, it was already too late; I had missed my chance to become the best version of myself.

Then, I died. My car swerved uncontrollably on the snowy roads and ended up plunging into a nearby river. Surprisingly, I didn't find my death disappointing; at least I went out with a bit of dramatic flair.

I was reluctant to meet God and be judged for the mediocrity of my past life. The thought of remaining in this void, reflecting on all the missed opportunities to improve my existence, was equally distressing. I had done enough of that during my lifetime.

As I stared into the darkness, I contemplated closing my eyes. But what was the point if all I would see was an unending blackness? That was my final thought before I shut my eyes, only to open them again and find myself in a room that wasn't my own.

I looked around and realized I was in a space resembling the typical Hollywood nerd's room—one I found oddly familiar, as it resembled my own room. I needed to figure out what was happening.

When I peered into the bathroom mirror, I was shocked to see a much smaller figure staring back at me. This couldn't be my body; I was overweight and definitely not white. The person in the mirror was an ordinary-looking guy, except there was something peculiar about the body. Curious, I took off my shirt and discovered that this seemingly average guy was, in fact, quite muscular beneath his baggy t-shirt. 

I returned to the room and found a pair of glasses. When I put them on, everything became blurry, so I removed them to regain my perfect 20/20 vision. As I scanned the room, I came across a bookbag. Flipping through its contents, I found a name: Peter B Parker. While I had no issue with being a comic book fan, this felt like an extreme form of method acting. The thought of being so deeply embedded in a fictional world was unsettling, especially considering I had only recently moved past my anime phase in my previous life.

After a bit more investigation, it became clear that every book and piece of identification belonged to someone named Peter B Parker. I had been reborn as a comic book character—and not just any character, but a superhero. It seemed that fate had a cruel sense of humor, placing me in the body of Spider-Man, a role I felt ill-equipped for, given my own cowardice.

"Peter, come down for breakfast or you'll be late for school!" a voice called out. I realized I was about to experience school life all over again. It had been lonely the last time, and I wasn't sure if it would be any different this time around. I wondered who was calling me.

I descended the stairs, guided more by instinct than knowledge, and entered the kitchen. "Morning, Aunt May. What's for breakfast?" I asked.

Aunt May, setting the table, responded, "We have pancakes and sandwiches. What would you like?"

Without thinking, I asked, "Aren't pancakes Ben's favorite?" Aunt May replied, "You can have them, honey. Ben wouldn't mind." I forced myself not to say "thank you" and instead took a bite of the sandwiches.

Uncle Ben joined us shortly and enjoyed his pancakes with a smile. After finishing my breakfast, I heard a loud voice. "Peter Benjamin Parker, how dare you eat my share of the sandwiches!"

Panicking, I replied, "Uh, sorry, Aunt May. I was hungry. I'll make it up to you somehow. I've got to get to school. Bye!" I quickly said goodbye to a chuckling Uncle Ben and hurried out.

At school, I boarded the bus, attended classes, and returned home, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. I had done well on the tests, answering all questions correctly, but this version of Peter seemed even lonelier than the usual portrayals—much like Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man.

As the day progressed, I noticed occasional lapses in my control over my speech. It felt as if another presence was influencing my words. Was this the residue of the original Peter Parker's personality? It was disconcerting, like a split personality without a physical presence. Still, given Peter's generally good nature, I hoped it wouldn't be too problematic.

The next day, I encountered Flash, the muscular bully, for the first time. "What's up, Penis Parker? Finished my homework yet?" His taunt was clear. I replied quietly, "Yes, it's done. I gave it to your friend MJ," since the previous Peter had already completed it. 

"Don't forget to add 'girl' at the front of it 'Parker', She is my girlfirend" he sneered. I resisted the urge to simply agree and instead responded, "She didn't say 'yes' yet, did she, Flash?" I stared him down as his face twisted with anger.

"Is that tone I hear from you, Parker?" Flash's loud voice drew the attention of everyone around, but they merely watched. "All sounds have tones, dumbass, and only old people use that dialogue."

I was surprised by my quick retort—this was likely Peter's influence, as he always had these comebacks ready but rarely used them. "You're done, Parker," Flash said, preparing to punch me. His swing came slowly, and I dodged with ease, tackling him before rolling away. I quickly made my way to class before he could retaliate.

This approach seemed effective; no one got hurt, and Flash wasn't overly humiliated, which meant no teachers would label it as a fight. Flash's torment would continue, but I knew I couldn't stop it any more than I could prevent the sunrise.

Now that I had seen my powers in action, I couldn't ignore them. It was time to test my strength and see what I could really do.