Reflections of a Teenage SuperReflections of a Teenage Super
[Author's Note: This story takes place eight years after the movie. | Spot the cameo!]
"I'm THE DASH!"
I heard this cry come from a small kid, maybe nine or ten years old, who was standing at the corner of the elementary school playground, surrounded by a dozen other children, some of them younger than the one making the proclamation. He leapt up onto a large rock to strike a pose: one arm ridiculously flexed, the other swinging out in a dramatic fashion. He had on a red teeshirt with a big yellow "D" in puffy paint on the middle, and he had red sweatpants with yellow stripes down the sides that anyone could buy at a local clothing store. He also had a black strip of fabric tied around his head, eyeholes cut out that didn't quite match up level. I chuckled and shook my head a little, but it was meant with good nature.
My costume didn't look anything like that.
I'm sure some kids had gotten ideas