Chapter 6

After a sip of strong coffee, Brad Millington found the morning's newspaper hit his new maple wood desk with the snap of a fire cracker. Brad was just turning the page to the sport's section at the time, and rather than pay attention to his intruder, he merely read on. The Yankees had won yet another game and were well under way to arriving at the World Series. A feet that had not been attempted in years.

"'Bout time." Brad thought to himself. His focus on his article was interrupted by an irritated tapping rhythm of a pair of black heels. He sighed as he finally put down the paper. The owner of the heels abruptly snatched the paper and flipped it to the front page and struck the opening title with the index finger.

"This," The figure said sharply. "Is not my article."

"No, it happens to be mine." Brad replied simply.

"But Dan promised me mine would make it on the front page not some wild cartoonist's fantasy story." The remark hit Brad like a thousand pins, but he forced himself to remain blank.

"I guess he liked the fantasy better than the government's slipup in the Middle East. I don't see what the big deal is."

"It's my story, my work, my newspaper front page!" The figure said pounding a fist on the desk, violet colored eyes glowing. "You stole that from me!"

"Maybe for a future reference, you should consider what the public would like to see, Estelle. They're tired of hearing of governmental slip ups. They don't want to know that the war is getting worse. Do you know the amount of chaos that'd run free? They needed something fresh, and that's what I gave them."

Estelle shook her head in disgust.

"They may not want to hear the truth," She said straightening her back and snatching the paper once again. "But they don't need anymore lies."

Brad watched his office door slam with a jingle of window shades, smiling to himself.

She sure was cute when she was angry.

Going into her private office, Estelle Hardgrave threw the paper into the nearest bin and sank into her rolley chair. She spun around in circles for a few minutes before taking several deep breaths.

So close. She had come so close to having her share of the spotlight. It was stupid to let it bother her, but after years of researching and building her skills as a journalist, Estelle couldn't but help feel lost in defeat.

"It's pathetic." She murmured to herself, eyeing the crumpled paper in the bin. A make believe super hero from the Saturday morning cartoons come to life. What was this country coming too?

Catching herself stare at its contents and feeling her curiosity mount, she irritably whirled around in her chair, disgusted with herself. It was all a bunch of false bull crap. There was no such thing as a human gifted with the power of a four legged insect. There was no Earthly possible way.

Little Joey, uneasily approached the small house of 5713. For the past three months it had slept in an apparent dormant sleep. How he cursed himself at the tender age of 12 for accepting the paper route. All his buddies had warned him not too. Why had he not had the brains to listen?

He paused and got off his bike. He was too afraid to simply throw the paper into the yard. His friends had warned him about that too. Mister Kihte preferred that it be left at the front door.

Hesitantly, he entered the yard, a cool breeze ripping at his mangled hair underneath his old Yankee's cap. He clutched the paper and was within five steps of the front door. Swallowing hard, he climbed up onto the porch and stopped infront of the dirty doormat with the words, Welcome!

"Yeah right." Joey breathed. He sucked in a big breath of cold air and lowered his arm to drop the paper. It was within inches of the mat when from behind him, without making a sound, a man snatched his arm and tore the paper from his hand. Joey started to scream, but a fist hit him hard across the skull. The boy collapsed on the porch as the plastic cover was torn from the paper and opened to the headlines. His eyes widened as his hands dropped the paper. It fell with a flutter onto the unconscious body of the boy.

The man rubbed his head and his expression of shock turned into laughter. He smiled at the headlines and then at the boy and turned to enter his house.

"Welcome to my home." He said with a sneer as the door shut behind him.

The wind continued to ruffle the pages, where in bold print of the headlines read:

"SPIDERMAN REBORN!"