After several minutes of awkward silence, Glitter tossed aside a piece of paper with an exaggerated huff. It fluttered uselessly to the floor, covered in what appeared to be pink handwriting and glittery doodles—he definitely wrote it himself.

  “That was nothing,” he declared, waving a dismissive hand. “Not nearly dramatic enough for my truth.”

  I sighed and glanced at my recorder. “Glitter, I keep asking—can you just tell me your origin story? Like, how you actually became…well—this.” I gestured vaguely at the sequined costume, shimmering cape, and gaudy life choices.

  Glitter sat up straighter in his chair. “Ah, yes. My origin. The tale of how I ascended from mere mortal to magnificence.”

  He adjusted his posture, placed a hand delicately over his chest, and cleared his throat with the gravity of someone about to perform at the opera. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and pressed “record.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked, glancing sideways. “Because this is legendary.”

  “Yep,” I muttered. “Super ready.”

  And just like that—he launched into it.

  "You may think you know pain,” he began, projecting like there was an audience beyond me and the empty rooftop. “Perhaps you’ve stubbed your toe in the dark, stepped on a rogue LEGO, or—heaven forbid—sat on a public toilet seat still warm from its previous occupant. But you know nothing of true suffering. Nothing compared to my story.”

  He paused, waiting for me to react. I just nodded. Sure, let’s see where this goes.

  “I was once normal,” he continued, then reconsidered. “Well—no. I was always fabulous. But I was normal in the sense that I wasn’t forced to constantly dress like a disco ball at a nightclub full of regret. I could enter a room without being mistaken for an overenthusiastic stripper. I could wear dark colors without looking like I’d lost a battle with an arts-and-crafts supply truck.”

  He sighed dramatically. “And my lungs…oh, my lungs! They functioned as nature intended—untainted by airborne microplastics!”

  I opened my mouth to question that but thought better of it.

  “But that,” Glitter said, eyes narrowing, “was all taken from me!”

  “Right,” I mumbled. “Here comes the tragic backstory.”

  “Tragic doesn’t begin to cover it!” he snapped. “I was cursed with a rare, incurable disease.”

  “What disease?” I asked.

  “That’s not important!” He waved me off. “No wonder you’re stuck on a daytime news channel—honestly, Kimberly, focus on what matters.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “It’s Kimmy,” I muttered under my breath, brow wrinkled in anger.

  “Now,” he continued, straightening, “do you want to hear this or not?”

  Having made it this far, I felt compelled to complete the interview. So, I gestured for him to go on.

  Glitter launched into how he “suffered the world’s cruelty” and “vowed to rise above it,” determined to transform himself into something stronger. “I wanted to be the kind of indestructible that makes people whisper, ‘Oh no, how do we stop them?’ Not, ‘Do you think they sparkle on purpose, or is it a medical condition?’”

  So naturally, he sought out a secret, highly illegal, and questionably scientific experiment promising ultimate power.

  Red flags? Plenty.

  “The ‘laboratory,’” he said, making air quotes, “was behind a strip mall. Between a taxidermy shop and an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

  I scribbled a note: Makes questionable life choices.

  “The lead scientist looked like he’d recently lost a malpractice lawsuit—which he probably had,” Glitter went on. “The paperwork was sticky, and I’m fairly certain one page was an old takeout menu. But did I let that stop me? No! Because I was destined for greatness.”

  His conviction was almost impressive. Almost.

  “And then,” Glitter whispered, voice dropping for dramatic effect, “came the procedure.”

  Lasers. Chemicals. And—because why wouldn’t this story include it—an industrial-grade Bedazzler.

  I paused my note-taking. “Wait—did you say Bedazzler—?”

  “Focus, Kimberly!”

  Right. My bad.

  “I awoke on a cold metal table,” he continued. “My head spinning, my body tingling with the promise of unimaginable power. I turned to the mirror…and that’s when I saw it.”

  He let the silence hang, waiting for me to gasp.

  I didn’t.

  He moved on.

  “I didn’t have super strength. I wasn’t faster than a speeding bullet. No. I had been cursed.”

  “With…sparkles?” I guessed.

  “Every inch of my once-pristine skin,” Glitter lamented, “shimmered like the surface of an enchanted lake at sunset. My hair—an iridescent cascade of celestial torment. My eyelashes twinkled as if crafted by ancient fairy artisans.”

  I blinked. “So…that’s not just an excessive amount of glitter spray?”

  “It’s not a costume!” he snapped. “This is my body!”

  I glanced at the faint smudge of eyeshadow under his mask. He caught me looking.

  “Yes, I’m wearing eyeshadow and a touch of mascara,” he said defensively. “It adds depth. This is about layers.”

  “And the worst part?” Glitter’s voice dropped again. “When I inhaled.”

  “Oh boy,” I muttered.

  “My lungs filled with microscopic glitter particles,” he said, hand over his chest. “Suffocating fabulousness. I collapsed, coughing—sparkling—like a dying star.”

  “That buffoon ‘scientist’ actually said, ‘Congratulations! You’re fabulous. Unmissable!’” Glitter threw up his hands. “Unmissable?! I can’t hide! I can’t lurk ominously in shadows! I am the shadows—the glittering, highlighter-pink, holographic shadows!”

  I blinked. “That’s…a lot.”

  “I am allergic to my own fantabulous existence!” he cried.

  There was a long pause.

  “So…you’re upset because you’re too…sparkly?” I ventured.

  He glared. “People mock my suffering. They say things like, ‘Oh wow, you look amazing!’ or ‘So cool! Can I touch your hair?’ or ‘You’d be perfect for a music video!’”

  I opened my mouth, then once again thought better of it. His hair did look kind of amazing.

  “But mark my words!” Glitter stood—dramatically, of course—fists clenched. “I will have revenge! On the fraudulent scientist! On the world that refuses to take me seriously!”

  A stray sparkle drifted between us. I sneezed.

  “See?” he said, gesturing wildly. “This is my life!”

  I set down my notepad. “So…anything else I should add?”

  “They will learn to fear the name—GLITTER!” he declared.

  A beat.

  “Even if,” he continued, “they have to pause mid-sentence to sneeze out my sparkles.”