Peter swallowed again as the scar appeared; he remembered that day. He must have only been about four or five, obsessed with the balloon, tugging on the cord repeatedly until it snapped around his fist and floated away. His mom hadn't even stopped to think about letting it go, just jumped up, grabbed it and scratched her arm up. His father had called her crazy.
He needed to stop living in the past, in his old memories. The point of this was to get them out, to give himself something tangible. Peter drank down his drink in one and watched as Miguel's clothes fell away from him, leaving just his suit underneath. "Neat trick, makes getting dressed in the morning super easy, huh?" he said, trying to lighten the mood.
And then he had a human spider dangling from his ceiling. Dude could have at least asked before webbing up his paintwork. Not that he'd been the one to paint it. "I'm wondering what you're doing hanging upside down from the plasterwork, that's what I am..."