A Life Without Regrets Isn't Life
5 Times Peter regretted the decisions he made, and the 1 time he was proud of them.
Chapter 1: The Cemetery (Or the time when Peter regretted Ben's death.)
Peter pulled his navy blue jacket around him. He tugged on the jacket, wrapping his arms around his middle and clutching the sides of the fabric.
The air was bitter and cold, but what did he really expect from the end of November? Not only that, but it was already 10 p.m., meaning he should have returned home an hour ago. Then again, no one was going to be at home to check on him. His aunt May had taken up night jobs after the incident. It was the only way for them to continue living in their apartment, but most likely, she didn't want to wait fourteen hours in an empty home that used to be full, even if it was just the three of them.
Peter sniffled, and tried to keep himself from collapsing right there and then. Everything had changed a few months ago, and it was all my fault.
Stopping himself in his self loathing, and walking, he looked around to make sure no one was nearby.
In front of him was a tall, slightly rusted arched gate. It, along with matching fences, wrapped around a dark grassy patch, lit on the edges only by the cities street lights. However, there was enough light for him to read the engraved word 'Cemetery' on the gate.
Peter after checking he was absolutely alone, grabbed the fence and pulled himself up, resting his feet on a metal edge. He then launched himself over the rest of the fence, landing with a soft thump on the grass on the other side. A few months ago, he wouldn't have had nearly as much upper body strength to pull himself up - let alone any strength.
But look where he was now.
In a gosh-forsaken cemetery.
Peter made his way through the dark - which was no problem as the path was practically sketched into his heart - and stopped near a gravestone. The gravestone was one of there newer stones in the cemetery, so it still held that bright white glow. Peter sat on his knees in front of it, staring the blurring letters. For a minute Peter panicked when the letters began to blur, yet it all made sense when he gently touched his eyes and felt the moist tears.
At that moment Peter openly cried, sobs shaking him. With trembling hands he launched himself at the gravestone, uncomfortable - yet hugging it, as if it would bring warmth instead of the rough cold he knew it would really bring.
"Oh my god! I-I'm so sor-sorry! Uncle Be-Ben!"
Peter pulled back from the gravestone, and resumed his previous position. This time he held his hands down in his lap, and stared at them. This brought back a brief memory of when his uncle was telling him off for lying when he was nine. That made Peter choke, and he coughed, while still crying.
Peter looked at his lap, fiddling with the edges of his jacket. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I lied. God- If I hadn't argued with you that day and run off, you would still be here. We could could be here. Our family! I lost mom and dad, and I've lost you! And I can't believe that even after all this, I'm still lying. I'm lying to Aunt May. Ned. My friends." Peter grew quieter as he listed off people, steeling himself for he last one. "Myself. If I told you why I was coming home late, why I could do things I couldn't before, just why in general? We wouldn't be here. No- we would be here! You would be here, and just ughhh! I don't know!"
Peter found himself at a loss of words, and found himself shifting until he was sitting beside the gravestone, his shoulder leaning on it. He closed his eyes, and felt the wind blow through his hair, tickling his tear streaked face. "I'm Spiderman. I can lift cars, and climb walls, and I made these web shooter things. I can do all of this...and I do it to help people. But I couldn't do it to help you. I'm sorry."
All he would remember from this moment would be him falling asleep, and waking up to the busy cars on the streets in the morning.
He won't remember saying, "I'm grateful for having you while I could. Happy Thanksgiving Uncle Ben."