This story was a weird one. It contains alot of childhood whimsy and mystery and…not much else. I clearly have far too much affection for small children who dress up as Batman to allow anything bad to happen to the poor kid. Also to sacred to mess with: parents who make their children superhero costumes. And adults who dress as superheroes.

Honestly, it’s like I wanted to write a story where nothing of consequence happens.

Maybe changing it to a original character like the sketch below is more appropriate. Or tossing out the superhero angle completely and making it vampires instead.

Barney put on his Batman costume because he was expecting adventure.  He solemnly zipped up the gray sweatshirt is father had sewn a bat insignia onto, flipping up the painted hood with the two pointy ears glued on. He carefully tied the black cape around his neck, having to redo it when one string was too short to complete the bow. He buckled on his plastic utility belt, making sure the foam batarangs it came with were stowed in the plastic pouches. Lastly, he put the shiny plastic domino mask over his eyes. Barney held the edges of his cape out wide in front of the mirror, checking out his wingspan.

Yes, he was ready for anything. He still had on his jeans and sneakers he wore to school—his grey sweatpants were in the wash with grass stains from the last time he wore the costume, and his black galoshes were hard to run in. But he had the important parts, the elements necessary to strike fear into the hearts of evil-doers. Swooping his cape, he dashed out his bedroom…

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