CONTENTS

Dreaming of a Knight Christmas
starring the Black Knight
by Mike Exner III

Zen and the Art of Mustang Maintenance
starring the Human Torch
by Russ Anderson

The Biggest Cliche
by Adnan Khan

Dane Whitman felt the sweat creep down his brow as he struggled to maintain his focus. Things were moving too fast and he was beginning to panic. He knew that if he didn't complete this final task, all would be lost. But even with the fate of so many resting in his hands, Dane's mind still began to wander. So many things had happened in such a short time that he could barely believe it had come down to this. Dane closed his eyes and thought back to how all of it had started.

"Avalon," spoke Dane Whitman and the medallion held in his hand began to glow with a strange inner light. He felt the shift in atmosphere as the mists of the mystic realm of Avalon wrapped themselves around him. The hand holding the medallion changed from one of flesh and blood to one of darkly hued armor. Dane Whitman smiled and let his amulet fall to his chest. He placed his right hand at his side and drew the sword of light from its sheath. On his left arm the shield of night absorbed the rays of the morning sun and made the sword glow brighter than before. Dane gave it a few swings around his head and listened to the sound of the blade cutting through the air.

He stepped forward to the edge of the roof of his ancestral home, Whitman Manor. The city of Washington D.C. was visible from his high perch. He had not been back here in a long time. His affiliation with the Heroes for Hire had kept him away from home for many months. He replaced his sword within the sheath and then raised an armored foot and placed it on an outcropping of stone. He surveyed the city closely but the city seemed as if it were still in a deep slumber on this chilly winter morning. He knew it wouldn't last long though. The sun was shining and it was going to be a beautiful Christmas day.

The Black Knight turned and headed back in the direction of his bedroom. He whispered the sacred name of Avalon again as he entered his chambers and once more the mists wrapped around him. The armor was shed as always and Dane Whitman was left standing in his Avenger issued t-shirt and a pair of silk boxer shorts. He shut the large glass doors that led to his roof and headed towards the bathroom.

Even with putting on his armor to save him from the cold weather outside, there was still a strong draft of winter within the castle. A hot shower would soothe the freeze and then cranking up the heat for the rest of the day would probably be a good idea too. The bill would be staggering but who could deny a man a warm home on Christmas morning?

"Maybe I'll tell the bill collectors that," muttered Dane to himself as he opened the door to the bathroom and stepped inside. Suddenly a booming crash echoed throughout the house. It seemed to come from the bottom floor and Dane immediately turned on his heels and bolted for the stairs. He jumped down them quickly and vaulted over his couch and other furnishings until he made his way to the greeting hall.

The front door to the castle was broken cleanly in two pieces and a man was laid out on the ground between them. The cold winter wind blew in through the door depositing lines of snow in the hallway. Dane shivered and gripped the stone of Avalon in his hand once more. Then the man lying on the shards of the door groaned and Dane dropped the medallion and ran to his side.

"Herc? Buddy, is that you?" Dane said as he knelt by the side of the motionless figure. He placed his hands beneath the man and lifted with all his might to turn him over. Dane knew the face well. Dane frowned down at his longtime friend and former teammate on both the Avengers and Heroes for Hire, Hercules.

"Well, this isn't exactly the ideal way I would have liked to have seen you again, Herc. But I'm glad you stopped by," said Dane as he struggled to drag Hercules further into the house and away from the bitter cold that he had entered from. Hercules was dressed in his standard super-heroic attire and even though Herc had mentioned on countless occasions that neither the cold nor heat got to him much, Dane didn't want to take any chances.

Once Dane had Hercules farther into the house he moved towards the door and looked over the damage. It didn't appear as if anyone was around except for Hercules himself. Obviously Hercules had bashed in his door, but why? It was a mystery that Dane was intent on solving.

"Dane Whitman, my friend," said a rough voice from behind Dane and he grinned and turned towards Hercules. The man had pulled himself up to a sitting position and was smiling a great toothy smile at the Black Knight.

"Glad to see you're in such a good mood, Herc. Now do you mind telling me what possessed you to make kindling out of my door?"

"By the sacred beard of Zeus!" exclaimed Hercules and Dane Whitman had to restrain himself from laughing out loud as Hercules jumped to his feet and stumbled over to where Dane was standing. Dane finally noticed the large bottle in Hercules' hand and everything clicked into place for him. Hercules was notoriously well known for his nightlife. Dane wasn't sure how much ale Hercules had to drink to get into the condition he was in, but he could smell his breath from all the way across the room. Hercules was drunk.

"Dane Whitman, thou must think me mad to have done such an injustice to yon door," said Hercules and opened his arms wide to collect Dane into a giant bear hug. The breath fled Dane's lungs as he was crushed in the demi-god's monstrous grip. "Forgive me, Dane Whitman. I prithee!"

"Whoa, Herc. R-Relax. It's just a door, ok? Nothing to get too worked up about," Dane grunted as he struggled to squirm from Hercules' arms.

"Thou art most kind, Dane Whitman. Truly thou art a good friend to the son of Zeus,"

"That's great, Herc. Now will you let me go? It's a little tough being this close to you with your breath the way it is," said Dane and Hercules dropped him to the ground.

"My breath? Surely thou doth jest, Dane Whitman," said Hercules as he raised one giant hand to his mouth and breathed onto it. He sniffed at his hand and frowned slightly in concentration. "As I thought, my breath is as fresh as the breeze that flows through Hera's mystic gardens,"

"Whatever you say, Herc. Why don't you hop into the parlor while I figure out a way to fix this door?"

"A fine idea, Dane Whitman. Zeus be thanked for it. I hath journeyed far to come here and should rest for a spell," said Hercules as he stumbled over to the couch. "My only hope is that I recover in time for the gathering,"

"In time for what gathering, Herc?" asked Dane as he watched Hercules trip over the back of the couch and fall face first onto the cushions. His legs stuck up into the air comically but Hercules made no move to situate himself on the couch any better. Dane sighed. The big guy was probably already asleep.

Dane headed into the kitchen and pulled open the bottom drawer beside his sink. Inside were a hammer and nails. All he had to do was head out to the shed in back and grab some plywood to board up the door and then he could spend the rest of his Christmas morning making really strong coffee and waiting for Hercules to wake up.

"Cute boxers," said a voice from behind him and the hammer and nails spilled out from Dane's hands and clattered to the kitchen floor. He whirled around and his jaw dropped at the sight of the woman standing before him. She had long dark hair flowing down to the middle of her back with highlights dancing throughout the length of it. Her olive skin was flawless and she was wearing a tiny green dress with a red bow tied just underneath her bosom.

"Um, what…what are you doing here?" asked Dane as the raven-haired beauty walked past him and opened the door to the refrigerator. Dane watched closely as she bent over to peer inside.

"She's with me," said another more familiar voice from behind Dane. He turned towards the speaker and smiled.

"Sersi. What are you doing here?" said Dane and the Eternal and former Avenger known as Sersi smiled right back at him.

"That seems to be the question of the day, doesn't it?" said the striking beauty from behind the refrigerator door. She popped up and looked directly at Sersi as if Dane wasn't even there. "You were right, he doesn't have anything in here,"

"What are we talking about?" asked Dane but the two women weren't even looking in Dane's direction.

"Just as I thought. Well, good thing we came prepared," said Sersi.

"I'll go get everybody," said the girl wearing the green dress and left the kitchen.

"Get everybody?" asked Dane as Sersi walked over to where he was standing.

"Candy was right, Dane. These are cute boxers. What are those, dancing hearts?" asked Sersi as she embraced and then lightly kissed Dane on his lips. The kiss was gentle and kind, the kiss of a friend. Dane remembered when it would have been more forceful and passionate and cast the thought from his head. He was only wearing boxers, after all.

"Candy? You've got to be joking,"

"Joke? Moi? Never," said Sersi and Dane couldn't help but grin. Sersi always had that affect on him. "Candy is a sweetheart, so you'd better be nice to her and the others,"

"What others, Serse? If this is one of your big socials, you'd better just forget about it," said Dane with what he hoped was a firm tone of voice. He thought back to what Hercules had mumbled on his way to the couch and grimaced. This must have been what the big lug meant by gathering. "I'm not in the mood for a party,"

"Was that Hercules I saw when I came in?" said Sersi as she turned away from Dane and fled back towards the parlor. Dane groaned, followed, then groaned again.

"Oh lord," said Dane as his jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. His entire parlor was packed with people. They were all dressed in bright green or red and were setting up for the party. The bar had been fully stocked and a man was already distributing drinks. A DJ was setting up shop in a corner of the room and flipping through a collection of music to play. Hercules was awake again and laughing among a crowd of young women who were alternately listening to him and running their fingers over his muscles. Dane noticed the large bottle of ale was still in his hand and Herc was drinking from it once more.

People began bumping past Dane as they made their way into his kitchen and he turned to look at them. They all carried stacks of trays filled to the brim with food. Appetizers were being sent towards the parlor, but at least three turkeys, giant pots of stuffing, potatoes, yams, green beans, bread of all kinds, cranberry sauce, hams, and every other dish Dane could think of were being ushered into the kitchen.

"Quiet please. I have something to say, everyone," rang the beautiful voice of Sersi and Dane looked over towards her. She was standing in front of the DJ and had his microphone in her hand.

"I'm so happy that everyone could come on such short notice. I know that this Christmas is going to be the most fabulous one we've ever had. Keeping that in mind, I'd like everyone to please thank Mr. Dane Whitman for graciously accepting us into his home. If it weren't for Dane, none of this would be possible," said Sersi and everyone turned in the direction she was pointing and looked directly at Dane.

"And aren't his boxers just the cutest?" said Candy from her spot next to Hercules.

"Aye, to Dane and his colorful shorts!" yelled Hercules and raised his drink and everyone began to laugh and clap and cheer. Dane stood in the face of the many people gathered as they gave him a standing ovation. He quickly backed into the kitchen.

"Dinner ain't quite ready yet, pal," said one of the many cooks that were preparing the literal feast that Sersi had brought into Dane's home. Dane watched as the turkeys were stuffed, the hams were glazed and the potatoes were peeled and everything was so smooth and so fast that Dane's head began to spin.

A hand closed around Dane's and he turned into the smiling face of Sersi.

"Come with me," she said and took Dane from the kitchen out to the parlor and to the stairs that led to Dane's bedroom.

"Have at her, noble knight!" called Hercules from downstairs and Dane couldn't help but laugh. Sersi laughed right along with him.

"I think gentle Hercules is smashed," said Sersi as she pulled Dane into his bedroom.

"I think that's the understatement of the year," replied Dane. "What exactly are we doing up here, Serse? I thought we agreed that being friends was the best thing for both of us,"

"Don't give yourself too much credit, Mr. Whitman. I only brought you up here for one reason," Sersi said and lifted Dane off his feet and threw him onto the bed. "As cute as those boxers are, I think you need to take them off,"

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned it's never to argue with a lady that can beat you in a fight," said Dane as he lifted his shirt over his head. Sersi smiled and then began to walk out of the room.

"Hey, where you heading?" asked Dane, and Sersi turned back in the direction of the bed and smiled down at him.

"I'm heading back to the party. I suggest you get out of those boxers and into that tux you're lying on. The guests will be waiting for you," said Sersi with a little smirk on her face. Dane grinned and looked underneath him at the tuxedo lying on the bed.

"And Dane?"

"Yeah, Serse?"

"Merry Christmas," Sersi said and walked out.

Dane wiped away the sweat on his brow. Everyone was waiting on him but Dane still couldn't figure out how to finish tying the bow tie on his tuxedo. He could hear the sounds of the party below him. The bellowing voice of Hercules, the clinking of glasses, the tones of Christmas carol after Christmas carol spun from the DJ, and the sing-song laughter of Sersi as she did what she did best, entertain.

The Black Knight struggled with his tie as the sounds of the party grew to a crescendo and threatened to shake his ancestral home to the ground. He hardly had any family left anymore. Friends like Hercules and Sersi were all that remained. Dane Whitman smiled and closed his eyes. It was no longer cold in this large and lonely castle. This was the best Christmas he had ever had.

"Oh my god... sis, it's beautiful!"

Susan Richards stood with her arms crossed, looking very pleased with herself as her younger brother, Johnny, circled the object of his admiration. "Ben suggested the make and model," she explained, "and Reed and Franklin did the time on the Internet finding it at a reasonable price. It was a group effort."

Johnny Storm stuck his head in the driver's side window of the 1971 Ford Mustang Mach 1 and popped the hood. In a moment, he was underneath it, sleeves rolled up, hands roaming over the engine block. "8 cylinders, dual valve... Rawsonville carb... are those drum brakes?... I'll bet it's got a 3M tranny too... damn!"

"It needs a little bodywork, but it runs fine."

"Keys?"

"They're in the ignition. I take it I done good?"

"Are you kidding, Sue?" Johnny emerged from under the hood and swept his older sister into his arms, spinning her around in the air. "This is the best Christmas present ever! I'm going to take it for a spin right now!"

Sue's eyebrows went up. "Don't you want to hang around for breakfast?"

"I won't be long," he insisted, moving around to the driver's side again and sliding in. "And if I run a little late, just go ahead and start without me." He saw the disapproval in her face and hurriedly added, "But I won't be late. Promise."

Sue smirked as the engine roared to life. "Just like when he was 5 years old. Can't wait to play with his new toys."

The Mach 1 leapt out of its berth and, with a wave, Johnny aimed it at the parking garage's exit.

The Mustang handled like a dream, Johnny thought as he nudged it in and around New York's Christmas day traffic -- which wasn't to say it was in perfect shape. Like Sue had said, it needed some bodywork, not to mention a fresh coat of raspberry paint, and there was a very faint rattling under the hood that probably indicated a loose bearing. Start up had been kind of choppy... the thing almost certainly needed new plugs and cables.

But a Mach 1? He hadn't even been born when this beauty rolled off the assembly line. He could handle a few nicks and dings. In fact, he suspected Sue had intentionally picked a car that needed a little work. She knew how much he loved to tinker with hot rods, and it'd been way too long since he'd been up to his elbows in a car's innards.

And if nothing else -- even if the 'Stang wasn't honestly the best present she could have gotten him, which it was -- it at least provided an excuse for him to get out of the Baxter Building for a while.

Johnny Storm loved his family, and he loved Christmas, but sometimes... being around Sue and Reed and Franklin during the holidays was just a little too much, like their happiness and success as a family was a silent accusation: Where's the love of your life, Johnny? Ben's got an excuse, he's made out of orange rocks, but you... when are you finally going to settle down, create something that lasts?

The thing was, he had tried to do that very thing once. He had married Alicia Masters, and then come to find out it was only a Skrull masquerading as Alicia. Finding out you'd unknowingly married and been a husband to an alien shape-shifter was enough to put you off of marriage for good. And then there was Lila -- a visitor from the future who, if she was to be believed, was Johnny's great-granddaughter. But somehow she just made his restlessness and feelings of uncertainty more desperate. Like having his future carved out in stone was worse than not knowing if he'd ever set down roots.

Johnny sighed. This was all way too much heavy thinking for Christmas Day.

He stopped at a red light and watched the foot traffic stream by in the crosswalk. Even today, the sidewalks were clogged with pedestrians, running their errands, New Yorkers somehow getting through their day without Starbucks open.

The light turned green and he pulled out, crossed the intersection, and continued down 42nd Street. Just a couple more spins around the block and then he'd go home and watch that claymation Rudolph show with Franklin for the third time. Man, he never got tired of that--

Johnny very nearly slammed on the brakes, which could have been disastrous for his new car on the slush-covered roads. Instead, he grunted in disbelief, and quickly and carefully began edging over towards the curb. He hadn't just seen who he thought he'd seen, had he?

There were no empty parking spots, so Johnny double-parked, waved a dismissive hand at the chorus of indignant honks this inspired from the people behind him, and got out of the car. His eyes scanned the crowd passing on the sidewalk, looking for the face...

The honking was drawing the attention of the pedestrians now, and several of them turned to look in his direction. One of them, only about 20 feet from where Johnny stood in the road, turned, and for a very long moment, his eyes locked with Storm's.

"Aw, no..." Johnny saw the pedestrian mutter.

"Flame on!" Johnny cried, his skin bursting into flame as he rocketed up into the air.

"Nonono!" the pedestrian was shouting as he bolted down the sidewalk, the Human Torch giving chase. "I don't want any trouble, Storm!"

"Too late for that, Petruski!" Johnny insisted, dropping a ring of fire around the man. The other people on the sidewalk fell back in alarm, but Johnny's control of his flame was absolute, there was no way he was going to burn anybody today unless he wanted them burned.

The man in the fire ring wheeled around, drawing a strange-looking gun out of his heavy jacket in the same fluid movement. "It's Christmas, for cryin' out loud! Cut me a break!"

"Tell it to the judge, Paste Pot Pete."

The man's teeth bared. "Don't ever call me that name. Ever! I told you and all your kind... I'm the Trapster!"

A thick stream of goo fired from the gun. The Human Torch dodged easily and lobbed a fireball at the Trapster's gun hand. The paste gun in his hand melted to putty and Petruski dropped it with a shout of pain.

Johnny tightened the circle of fire to dissuade the Trapster from moving, then dropped down to the street. "Pretty gutsy of you to walk out in broad daylight so close to the Baxter Building, Pete."

"Come on, Storm! Don't do this to me, I'm straight now!"

"That why you helped the Magistrates kidnap Reed a while back?"*

(* In Marvel's Fantastic Four vol. 3 #10 -- Russ)

"I was raising money for my day in court. That was one job!"

"Uh huh. Look, Pete, you just stay right here for a second, I'm going to--"

Johnny had been turning back to his car, already wondering what in the world he was going to do with it if he had to rush Pete Petruski to the police, when his words died in his throat, the flame engulfing his body flickering out.

"My Mustang!" he cried.

Whatever that glop was the Trapster had fired at him had arced downward and splashed all over the passenger side of the vehicle. Given how hard it was to remove Petruski's custom-made paste, this would have been bad enough, but the Mustang's body appeared to be... smoldering where the white paste touched it.

"What did you do to my new car?" the Torch demanded. He dropped the fire ring, seized the Trapster by the lapel of his overcoat, and dragged him back towards the Mustang.

"Ah hell, this is yours?" Petruski was rummaging inside his coat. "I must have accidentally flicked the gun to the acid-paste setting. Good thing it didn't hit anybody..."

"But what about my car??"

"Here." He pulled a thin vial out of his coat and held it to the light. "This works best in a spray, but sprinkle some over the affected area and it should remove the paste."

"Do you have another one of these?" Johnny demanded, snatching the vial out of his hand.

"One more, yeah."

"Good. Help me."

Together, the two of them set to work, ignoring the growing crowd and the increasingly irate holiday drivers as they labored to save the car. It only took about five minutes to get the paste cleared away, but by that time, the passenger side of the Mustang was a wreck, blackened and eaten completely through in some places.

Johnny looked at it, felt his heart break, and sat down heavily on the curb.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry about that," Petruski said, as he had a seat next to him. Johnny was too distraught to be surprised that he hadn't taken the opportunity to run.

"My fault. Should've left you alone. It is Christmas after all."

"Yeah." Petruski was silent for a moment. "Is that a Mustang Mach 1?"

"It was."

"Seventy, Seventy-one?"

"71, yeah." Johnny looked at him. "What the hell were you doing out on the street, anyway?"

Petruski rubbed the back of his neck. "Well... my family lives in town... my sister and her husband and kids, and I'm visiting them for the holidays."

"So why aren't you with them?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Petruski fidgeted. "It's just that... I don't know, I love my sis, right... and her family's great, even though I think I make her husband a little nervous... it's just that I get this vibe off them all the time, like 'When are you going to do something with your life, Peter? When are you going to stop being a hood and lay down some roots?' It's--" He broke off. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand."

"You might be surprised." Johnny laughed under his breath. "Look, I don't think Reed pressed any charges when you helped kidnap him, and if you really have been keeping your nose clean otherwise..."

"I have, trust me."

"Then I guess there's no reason for me to hound you." He stuck a hand out and, after an uncertain moment, Petruski took it. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

"Y'know," the villain said as they stood up, "it looks like all you really need is bodywork. I think we got it before the acid ate all the way through to the guts."

"You know a lot about cars?"

"I like to tinker."

A grin appeared on Johnny's face. "When do you have to be back to your sister's...?"

The elevator doors slid open, and Susan Richards stepped out into the parking garage. She looked around for a moment, and when her eyes fell on the object of her search, they went wide in shock.

"Johnny!" Sue exclaimed, rushing over to where she could see her brother's rear end and legs poking out from under his car's hood. The car itself was blackened and burned. "What happened? Are you alright? You've only had it for an hour, how could you--?"

Johnny emerged from the engine, wiping his grease-stained hands with a cloth. "It's okay, sis. Really. I'm going to have to replace some of these panels, but there's no damage to the engine or anything. I'll have it good as new in a few weeks."

"What happened?"

Sue heard a skittering sound, and she looked down to see a second man emerging from beneath the Mustang on a crawler. "Uh, that was me, Mrs. Richards."

"The Trapster! Johnny, get back, the Trapster's sabotaging your car!"

Shoving her brother out of the way, she seized Petruski in an invisible force field, yanked him to his feet, and flung him several feet into the air.

"Sis! Sis, it's okay!"

Petruski, still floating in the invisible bubble, turned an annoyed look on Johnny. "She can remember what my name is now. How come you can't?"

"Sis, let him down. Pete's helping me fix it."

"The Trapster. Is helping you. Fix your car," Sue said in disbelief.

"Yeah. He's pretty sharp, actually. We've gotten a lot done..."

Sue turned her wide-eyed stare from her brother to the Trapster, who simply shrugged. Sighing, she set her hostage down and got rid of the force field.

"Don't worry about us, sis. This is all boy stuff now. I'll be up in a little while to explain everything."

"Right."

"Including what happened to the car."

"Fine." Sue rolled her eyes, and Johnny thought he saw a small smile break the surface of her stern older sister demeanor. "I suppose I'd better go make some sandwiches. Never know when the Wizard or Dragon Man might drop by for lunch..."

"Don't you hate that about those guys?" Pete said, attempting a joke. He fell quickly silent when Sue turned the older sister look on him though.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Petruski."

"Thanks, Mrs. Richards. Same to you."

She turned and strode quickly back toward the elevator. The two men watched her go, and when the doors had slid shut behind her, they grinned at each other like two schoolboys who've gotten away with a particularly brilliant bit of mischief.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny Storm," the Trapster said.

"God Bless us, everyone," Johnny replied with a grin. "Now hand me that plug wrench, would ya?"

"Urrggh..." Jamaal sighed, pulling his arm back from the alarm clock. Yawning, he pushed the covers from his body, the sleep still not shook from his body. He stepped out of his bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor beneath him. Grimacing, he staggered into the bathroom. Jamaal washed water on his face and hands, in an almost ritual of sorts.

He stepped out of the bathroom, the stagger and sleep nearly gone. He got a rug and laid it across the floor. Bringing his hands up to his ears, he said, "Allah Wakbar."¹

"The Biggest Cliche "

by Adnan Khan

Jamaal smiled as he felt the cold brisk air hit his face as he walked down the streets of New York. Smiling, he greeted people he didn't know with many "Merry Christmas's", and to some people he did know, "Ramadan Mubarak".² He finally stopped at a well-known toystore. He grinned, reliving moments of his childhood, before stepping in.

A few hours later, Jamaal stepped out, still in a happy and brisk mood. He looked into his watch, on his free hand. "12:35." Jamaal muttered before heading off again, this time to the mall. As he walked, he noticed many Christmas decorations everywhere. Not caring, it in fact improving his mood if possible.

The mall was loud, people yelling and talking happily as they walked fast from store to store, trying to get their last-minute shopping done. He went to the locker room, and inserted a token to rent one. He put in the gifts bought from the toystore, and closed it. Before he could do much else, a fat white man shoved him against his locker.

"Excuse me sir, is there a problem?" Jamaal tries to figure out what was happening, in a mild New York accent.

"Yer damn right there is, you stupid Pakistany punk." Jamaal should have known. It was uncommon, but racism existed. Sighing once again, Jamaal did not say anything, and let the man continue. "We don't need yer kind 'round here, ya'know? This is the land of American, and jus' Americans. Ya understand?" Jamaal simply nodded, and let the man walk away. He didn't say a word.

"Are you okay, son?" Jamaal looked up and saw another white male, in his forties obviously.

"Yeah."

"You know, I would just like to apologize on my fellow American's behalf. We're not all like him ya'know. Most of us understand not all foreign people are like those Taliban terrorists."

Jamaal was more angered by this man than the other. "Thank you, but I am an American also." Jamaal walked away from his locker, letting the man wonder why Jamaal got mad.

Jamaal was worn out, the sun was setting, knowing he needed to get home to break his fast. He expected the usual, his fiancé would be home, setting the table with food and and drinks. What Jamaal did not expect however, was this.

"Look! A genuine burglary! I reckon' one of those New York Superheroes will save the day."

"I wish Mama did come, she woulda been suprised!"

Two masked men with guns ran out of the store, looking around wildly at the group of people who had gathered. "Get out of our way!!" one yelled, waving his gun.

"Hey, thats not nice!" Webbing splattered from where the voice had come, above them all. Jamaal looked up, grinning.

"Spider-Man!"

"The one and only." Spider-Man sent a quick faster-than--the-eye-can-see punch at one man. Wrapping him with webbing, Jamaal felt the need to help his idol.

"The other one's getting away!" Spider-Man flicked his wrist up, and simply sent webbing at the other one. Both muggers were taken out.

Jamaal grinned, and felt this was his only chance to say something to his hero. "Yo Spidey!"

Spider-Man looked up at Jamaal. "Yeah?"

"Despite what the Daily Bugle says, you are coolest. I've looked up to you since I was sixteen years old, when you first appeared."

"Whoa! A fan! Thanks man."

"No problem, but one thing."

"Shoot."

"Can I get an autograph?"

Jamal smugly walked home. Spider-Man had given him an autograph, and to him, it had made his day. He had completely forgotten about the racist, and all other problems of his day. He had been running late, so he had got a coffee from a local Starbucks. He smiled, nearing home, when he heard a yell.

"HELP!" Jamaal looked around, and ran into the alley, seeing a mugging. He threw his coffee in the trash, and looked at the victim. A wave of recognition hit him, and for a brief instant, he felt he shouldn't help. It was the man from the mall, the racist. Of course, Jamaal knew he had to help.

"Stop." The mugger looked around and saw Jamaal. Jamaal noticed he had a gun, grimaced. The Bengali man hated guns. "Stop." Jamaal repeated.

"Wutchu gonna do, other than giving me your money too?" The mugger grinned. "Hehehe--" He was cut off by a whck to his jaw.

"What?!" Jamaal didn't say a word as he quickly spun in the air and knocked the guy on the ground.

The mugger, still with his gun, angrily aimed it. "Take this!" *BLAM!* Jamaal spun out of the way, the bullet grazing his arm. Still in mid-spin, he grabbed hold of a gutter, and ripped it off with superhuman strength.

*THWACK!* The gunner dropped, Jamaal standing over him with the gutter in his hand. He threw it away, and looked at the racist man. "You alright?"

"Uh... yeah." Jamaal didn't say a word and began to walk away, angry he had to lose his coffee.

"Yo!" Jamaal turned around, hearing the man yell for him. "Uh... um... about earlier... uh... I w-would just like to... uh.."

"Apologize?" Jamaal smiled, "Dont worry, us dirty A-rabs hear it all the time."

The man embarrassingly looked down.

"I was kidding." The man looked up at Jamaal, as Jamaal continued. "No hard feelings man, I was kidding."

"Thanks for... uh... not whooping me."

"I hate violence, just like most Muslims do." Jamaal walked away with a smile, thinking it had been a good day. A Spidey autograph, and a change of heart from a racist. Tomorrow would be better, because it was Eid,³ but as far as he was concerned, he had already gotten his gift.

Not a bad day at all.

Story notes:

1 : Allah Wakbar means Allah is the Greatest.

2 : Ramadan Mubarak is like Merry Christmas, except for Ramadan.

3 :Eid is the Muslim holyday, coming after the month of Ramadan.