[ WP ] Retell the origin of a superhero , but reveal the hero at the end of the story .

My Aunt makes the best meatloaf in the history of the universe. 
 
 I'm dead serious. Go, right now, read every history book you can possibly find on the incredibly specific subject of meatloaf. You will not find my Aunt's cooking mentioned at length, or at all, in any of them. But take my word for it. Her meatloaf rocks. 
 
 That's why I wish we had gotten the news on a night when I was n't eating her delicious, home-cooked meatloaf. I was in the kitchen, at our dinky little coffee table-that-isn't-really-meant-for-meals in our dinky little house in Queens. I had my laptop open, propped up on one knee actually, and was browsing the web for information on the upcoming episode of Doctor Who. I was really suspicious of Peter Capaldi at first, but seriously, he *kills* it. 
 
 `` Have n't we talked about your computer at the dinner table?'' My Aunt said as she walked into the kitchen. 
 
 `` Yeah, I know,'' I replied. `` I'm sorry.'' 
 
 `` No, you are n't.'' 
 
 She went to washing dishes, and I went back to Google, proving her totally right. After the `` incident'', sure, some things changed majorly. I was making money for once, for one. But mostly, things had stayed the same. Nights like the beginning of that one were still normal. Me, on my laptop, while my Aunt and Uncle mill about the house trying to hold our lives together. They use a lot of duct tape for that. 
 
 Until that night, the reason I ca n't eat my Aunt's meatloaf anymore, without thinking about how my Uncle died. 
 
 I still remember the look on the cop's face, standing under our porch light and breaking the news to my Aunt. She went very still, she did n't break down in great, dramatic sobs like you always see on soap operas. She just thanked the officer for his time, closed the door, and turned back to me. I was so much more scared by the look on her face than I've ever been in my entire life. All the strength in her was just gone. 
 
 `` Your Uncle is dead.'' She said. Just like that, plain and simple, like a slap to the face. My Aunt spoke with such confidence, even then, I thought maybe she was pulling a prank. 
 
 `` How?'' I said. My voice squeaked. I was really hoping it was a joke. 
 
 `` He was on the street, unlocking his car. There was a man, some thug, he...'' And here, finally, my Aunt broke down into soft sobs. `` Oh, god, he shot him. He's dead.'' 
 
 `` Oh, my god,'' I said, and I could n't think of anything else to add because there was nothing to add. Words do n't solve that kind of hurt, and they do n't bring people back from the dead. Only deeds do that. That's what I learned that night. That was the beginning of my story. At least, that's what I like to think, anyway. 
 
 
 ~~~ 
 
 
 One month later, and here I am, with a mask on my face and the wind blowing elegantly through my hair. Well, not really that second thing, because, y'know- I have a mask on my face. But the wind is blowing really hard up here on top of this building, and if it were n't for the mask, that would make it a lot more difficult to see the bank robbery taking place down below. 
 
 Wow, those guys have really scary looking guns. 
 
 Okay, I can do this. Nothing to it. I just leap down onto the street, use these amazing powers of mine, the way my Uncle would have wanted. The way I should have been all along. Here I go. 
 
 `` Hey, have any of you guys ever heard the word'cliche' before? Because this? The whole ski mask, armed bank robbery thing? This is the *definition* of that word.'' 
 
 Hey, that actually sounded pretty good. This whole'Spider-Man' thing is n't so difficult afterall. 
 
 
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 I figure this one is pretty obvious from the get-go, since Spider-Man's origin story has been done to death. But I wanted to focus on the intimacy of the story, and Spidey has always been my favorite superhero... so I had to do this one, whether I'm a few days late or not. Hope it's well loved!
