“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.