Bath time

I come across what must be the prematurely born son of Spiderman in my bathtub. I watch with intrigue as he attempts to climb helplessly up the side of the bath. Approximately 3 cm tall it appears as if he was born in his perfectly fitted costume. His webs fall dry and limp from his wrists. I bung the plughole and turn on the hot tap. “DADDY DADDY” he shouts. “Daddy can’t hear you” I reply, as his minute tears contribute to the rising water level. Entertainment flavoured steams rise from the bath as I watch him gasping for breath.
Suddenly my eye is drawn to the misted glass of the bathroom window, a blurred figure stands red and blue half rubbed out by the opaque glass. A high definition fist smashes through the glass. The rubber ducks spectate without emotion as I meet my end.