On my knees, I stare down at my hands. They're covered in blood. The blood of Peter Parker. The blood of my uncle. And now, the blood of my father. I failed. I couldn't save him. "You aren't supposed to be spiderman!" He was right. I should've never become spiderman. Then nobody I love would have to die. Then nobody would die because I wasn't good enough to save them. Because I wasn't good enough to save him. I sit next to my father, his body buried beneath the crumbled building. Muffled screams surround me, but I can't seem to care. The only thought in my mind is the fact that my father is lying dead before my eyes.
"Miles!" I hear someone call out for me. Not someone. Gwen. She's calling for me. Why is she here?! She's the one who was fine with me letting him die. She's the one who betrayed me. She's the one who said she should've never come to see me so why? Why is she here?! "Go away Gwen." I say, my voice shaking. "Miles...." She places a hand on my shoulder. I should shrug her off. But I can't. I can't do anything but cry and hug her. Life won't ever be the same. Why did I become spiderman? Why couldn't I be a regular kid? Why did the spider have to bite me?

The Spot left me alone once he knew my life was just as torn apart as his. He felt I got what I deserved. He thought my suffering made up for his. I wish it was him under this building. No...I wish it was me. I wish I was the one who saved that kid. The blood on my hands shows me guilty. Because it wasn't the Spot who killed my father.
It was me.
Just like all the other deaths I was at fault for. The blood on my hands is my own fault. As I was never meant to be spiderman.

A/N: teehee 😛 how silly is this