“Since that fallin’ star,” I say, plucking a deformed cob.

Dumped as garbage, I’m abandoned.

I recognized its features masked in twisted torment.

“No. I’m the first goth superhero.”

“Jo is a three-meter-tall war-bot!”

“Remember those defective wands that only summoned berserk firecats?”

His eyes open as pudgy, perfumed hands pat down sand.

He presses play, and the Moonlight Sonata begins.

It waddles to where I’m chained on the wall.