Information

Kryptonite has a minion!

Good Boi the Dogo

Kryptonite

The

Chibi Telenine
Owner:

Gossamer

Age: 9 months, 3 weeks, 2 days

Born: May 24th, 2025

Adopted: 9 months, 3 weeks, 2 days ago

Adopted: May 24th, 2025

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 3
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 3
Books Read: 3
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Store Clerk

It was Sunday, and there shouldn't have been a letter in the mailbox, but there was; one letter in every mailbox of each child in Mr. Mitchell's preschool class. Nothing that would ever resemble bad news, nor was it truly something that could be called good news. It was an invitation. It was Lucas's fifth birthday and his party was that afternoon. Like most boys his age, Lucas liked planes and trains and cars, but more than anything else he liked superheroes. He had costumes for all of his favorites: Batman, Superman, Wolverine, Spiderman, among others. Sometimes his obsession got in the way of things; he would throw tantrums if either of his parents tried to make him leave the television when one of the superhero shows was on. They didn't like him wearing the costumes around everywhere either. After all, children should wear proper clothes in public.

But today was the exception. It was his birthday and he had his entire class coming to the park to celebrate. The party would start at noon, with lunch and cake, and would run until later that evening with a cookout and a piñata shaped as a super villain. Lucas, in all his excitement, woke early and ran to his parents' bedroom, cheering and waking them. It took him all of two seconds to climb onto the mattress and beginning bouncing, forcing his parents to actually sit up and take notice.

"No bouncing on the bed, Lucas. Sit down." The groggy words from his father's mouth made the little boy giggle.

"But Daddy, it's my birthday! I'm five now." He held his hand out, four fingers sticking up out of it before frowning at it and correcting himself. "See? Five!"

His mother had to chuckle at that, and she pulled him off his feet to sit in her lap. "Yes, you're a big boy now, huh? Five's a big number, and big boys don't jump on the bed." Her lips pressed against the side of his head and she let him go before getting out from under the covers. "Come on Adam, we need to get Lucas ready for his party. Lucas, what would you like for your birthday breakfast?" Lindsay knew what the answer would inevitably be. It was the one thing he always wanted, even when there was only time for a bowl of cereal or a granola bar.

"Pancakes!" he said through rambunctious giggling as Adam picked him up. "An' I wanna dress as Superman today too! He's the best of the superheroes cause he can't be beaten. He's got super speed and super strength and x-ray vision so he can see everything, and he can fly." As he started to ramble on and on, Adam set him on his own bed and moved to pull the outfit out of the closet. "Don't forget the cape! He has a bright red one!"

"I know, buddy. I know he does; I got it right here" While Lindsay made the pancakes, Adam struggled against the squirms of excitement to help Lucas into the costume before the little boy ran down the stairs, the cape flying out behind him in the wind he was causing. Once he reached the ground floor, his arms extended before him, his hands balled into fists. Just like Superman.

He jumped onto his chair and knelt on the seat, leaning over the table and watching his mother as he waited for the breakfast he only got on the rare, special occasion. As soon as the plate hit the table and the syrup was drizzled on top, the sterling silver fork was plunged into the fluffy flapjack and it moved faster than a speeding bullet to the boy's mouth and back to the plate, over and over till the plate was clean. Despite the sticky syrup that had drenched his mouth and shirt, Lucas fought against the tyranny of the laundry machine and ran off to watch cartoons while waiting for the party to start. Of course, he had gotten a DVD of his favorite shows from his grandparents that had arrived the day before, and was watching that for a couple hours, rather than do anything to help his parents get ready. They didn't blame him. It was an exciting day.

The hours passed, and after a five minute car ride with a five year old who had all but plastered a smile to his face and his face to the window, they arrived. He would only turn five once, and that once was now. He recognized a few of his friends' in the parking lot and as soon as his father pulled their car to a stop, Lucas was out and running to the groups of children near the picnic benches. The pizza had been timed to arrive right at noon, and soon enough everyone was digging in, arms of all sizes reaching across one another to grab at cheesy slices. It was lunchtime chaos and as soon as the pizza was gone, the cake was brought out, and rather than slices moving, plates full of frosting and moist cake started circling in what may have seemed to be a planned, organized dance, but was really just a complicated form of disorganization.

Soon enough, the kids ran off, filled to the brim with sugar and energy, to play on the playground and in the fields of the park, giddy with praise of the party. There were hours before the piñata would be strung up to have the children swing bats and sticks at it. Lucas sat with his friends on the edge of the field, near the road as cars passed by. These were the other children who loved the superheroes that were on television. Like Lucas, the little boys around him would wear costumes if given the choice, and had memorized as many super powers as their young minds could handle.

Deep in the conversation, it took Lucas more than a moment to hear the the wailing sirens around the park, but hear them he did. This was his chance. He knew, deep down that he too had a super power. And he was more than willing to show his friends. He hopped to his feet and grinned. "You have to watch this! I have super strength!" And with that, he ran to the street as a stolen car, one the police were chasing madly through the area, turned around the corner. The violent squealing from the breaks alerted Lindsay, though her intuition that something was wrong had put her on edge even before she had heard that, and she and Adam ran to the group of kids who stood watching.

The car sped away like nothing had happened, and the black and whites followed, their eyes solely on their goal. More sirens screamed in the distance, drowning out the screams of the parents of the fallen superman, who lay bleeding on the pavement. No more would he bounce on the bed or fly through the halls to watch his idols on the television screen. No more tantrums or pancakes or costumes for the tiny hero, beaten down by his own personal kryptonite at the raw age of five years old.

Story by

Gossamer.
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