Note: I set some music to this at the bottom of the post, it should autoplay… however, you can pause it or press play if it doesn’t work for you. It’s embedded at the end.
By Gregory Scott Gentry II
The party wasn’t just loud—it was suffocating. Music thundered from speakers that seemed ready to crack the walls, each bass drop jolting through the floor like an erratic pulse. Laughter burst sporadically, sharp and jagged, ricocheting off the walls and dissolving into the relentless buzz of overlapping voices. The air was thick—a chaotic blend of spilled beer, sour-sweet cocktails, sweat, and the bitter bite of cigarette smoke that clung to every surface.
Scott lingered at the fringes, a plastic cup clutched in his hand, its contents untouched. He wasn’t fully part of the scene, but he wasn’t entirely removed either. This was his comfort zone—a careful limbo between connection and solitude. No risks. No complications. Simple.
But tonight, something felt different. A current of unease rippled beneath the surface, too faint to name but impossible to ignore. It prickled at the edges of his awareness, tugging him toward the unknown.
At first, the change was barely noticeable—a faint pressure, like the atmosphere had thickened. The air carried a strange charge that seemed to crawl along his skin. The sounds of the party began to shift, the music and laughter fading into a low, almost indiscernible hum. It was as if the room had tipped slightly, its balance disrupted, and somehow, Scott felt like he was the only one who noticed.
And then he heard it.
“Scott.”
The voice was quiet, yet it tore through the noise like a fissure splitting the air. It didn’t belong in the chaos of the party—it was too sharp, too deliberate. The sound froze Scott in place. His breath snagged, his grip tightening around the cup in his hand. Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned his head.
At first, he saw only the shape of a figure in the crowd. But as the shifting lights illuminated his face, the world around Scott seemed to contract, narrowing to just the two of them.
There he was.
A phantom dragged from the depths of his memory, standing there like he belonged. Scott’s pulse hammered in his ears, drowning out the music. His chest felt hollow, as though something had been wrenched from it. The room seemed to tilt, and every instinct screamed for him to look away, to pretend he hadn’t seen. But his eyes stayed locked on the figure, unable to break free.
And then the name came—not spoken aloud, but in the cruel whisper of his own mind. It hit him like a cold blade, slicing through the carefully buried layers of his past.
Kid Danger.
Two words, so innocuous on their own, yet together they carried the weight of everything he’d tried to forget. The name echoed in his mind before he could stop it, unbidden and unwanted.
Kid Danger leaned against the far wall with an air of effortless confidence, his arms crossed in a way that teetered perfectly between laid-back and deliberately cocky. His black and white Converse high top All-Stars, spotless and vibrant, seemed immune to the sticky floor beneath him, as though the grime of the world simply refused to touch him. Around his neck hung a black bandana, its loose folds framing a cryptic symbol—a bold red circle etched with four white arrows fanning outward on the right, each line precise and full of quiet intent.
His hair, a mass of unruly curls, cascaded in deep chestnut waves that caught the light as they brushed against his neck, partly hidden beneath a backward black trucker hat. The hat added a playful, devil-may-care edge that matched the mischievous glint in his eyes. The curls framed his face with an unexpected softness, a deliberate contrast to the sharp focus in his gaze—a gaze that could shift from inviting to cutting in an instant.
The line of his jaw was strong and clean, offset by dimples that surfaced when his lips curled into the faintest grin. That grin, equal parts boyish and dangerous, spoke of secrets and schemes he might share—or keep to himself. A puckish energy seemed to radiate from him, his eyes glimmering with a sly, playful defiance as though he was perpetually poised on the edge of a clever retort or a daring move.
Though lean, his frame held a wiry strength, every subtle shift in his posture exuding a precision that hinted at control and readiness. There was something magnetic about him, a presence that felt larger than life, as though the very air around him adjusted to the weight of his confidence and the unshakable ease he carried with him.
Scott couldn’t tear his eyes away. Kid Danger wasn’t just standing there—he was there, vivid and unshakably alive, drawing Scott’s attention like a gravitational pull. It wasn’t just his presence; it was the symbol on the bandana, stark and familiar, striking Scott’s thoughts with the force of a lightning bolt.
The memory hit him before he could brace for it. That symbol—he knew it. He had drawn it so many times it had become second nature, etched into the margins of crumpled notebooks during endless school days, sketched onto his skin with cheap pens that smudged too soon, and pressed into the earth in thick, uneven crayon beneath the sprawling limbs of the willow tree in his backyard. It wasn’t just something he remembered; it had followed him, a silent specter from his past, always there, always waiting.
His chest tightened, a sharp, suffocating pressure that stole his breath. The memory wasn’t a gentle drift; it was a jagged wave, pulling him under. He saw himself as a boy again, small hands clutching at the symbol as if it held the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. Back then, he had believed it meant something—something grand, something important. Now, staring at it again, all it left him with was an aching hollow in his chest, the kind of ache that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, sharp and relentless.
Kid Danger hadn’t said a word, hadn’t moved an inch, yet his presence filled the room like a shadow made real. He stood there as though carved from Scott’s memories, a living echo of days he had buried but never forgotten. Scott’s breath hitched, his hands gripping the edge of the table, knuckles pale as if holding on could ground him, could stop him from sinking deeper into the past.
But the memory held fast, dragging him under with unyielding force. It wouldn’t let him go. It clung to him, tangled in his mind like a thorny vine, digging deeper with every second.
Scott froze, his pulse a staccato drumbeat in his ears. Something shifted in the back of his mind—a flicker of recognition, faint but undeniable. It wasn’t just that Kid Danger felt familiar; it was the kind of familiarity that unsettled, the kind that left you cold, like hearing a voice from a dream you’d long forgotten but couldn’t quite shake.
And then, breaking the silence like the crack of a whip, came the word.
“Scott.”
The boy’s voice cut through the noise with ease, calm and clear.
Scott blinked, his throat tightening as Kid Danger pushed off the wall and began weaving through the crowd. His movements were impossibly smooth, almost too fluid, gliding effortlessly toward Scott. That’s when Scott noticed it—no one else seemed to react. People brushed past Kid Danger without so much as a glance, their conversations undisturbed, their focus elsewhere, as though he wasn’t even there.
“Do I know you?” Scott asked, his voice thin and strained.
Kid Danger tilted his head, a slow, knowing grin curling across his lips. “You could say that.”
Scott’s frown deepened, unease clawing at the edges of his mind. “What in the hell does that mean?”
Kid Danger shrugged lazily, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “It means I’ve been waiting for you to remember me. Took you long enough, Scotty.”
Scott glanced around, his pulse quickening. No one else looked his way. No one looked their way.
“Come on,” Kid Danger said, stepping closer, his voice low but heavy with meaning. “You really don’t remember? The Black Rebellion? The willow tree out on the back acre? Those late nights writing poems after heartbreak? The talks that got you through the pain of those foot surgeries?”
Scott’s breath hitched, the words tugging at something buried deep, something he hadn’t thought about in years. And then, like a dam breaking, the memories rushed back.
He could see himself as a boy, tearing through the woods, the LEDs in his favorite light-up sneakers flashing with every step, gravel and dust flying in his wake. He remembered wielding a stick like a sword, hacking imaginary paths through the dense blackberry overgrowth behind the house. And there it was—the willow tree, massive and hidden, their secret base in the back property.
And Kid Danger… he had always been there.
“That’s not possible,” Scott said, shaking his head as if the motion could erase what he was hearing. “You’re not real. You were imaginary.”
“Imaginary?” Kid Danger echoed, his grin stretching wider, his eyes gleaming with something sharp, something that cut right through Scott’s denial. “Sure, if that’s what helps you sleep at night. But let me ask you this—was I imaginary when I dared you to climb the rock wall under the pear and plum trees? When I told you to stand up to those jerks bullying Bobby in ninth grade? Was I imaginary when I pushed you through the pain and terror after the lawn mower accident when you were two?”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping into something almost too intimate, too knowing. “Tell me, Scotty—who was it that whispered in your ear whenever fear tightened its grip on you? Who gave you the strength to take just one more step through your pain when you thought you couldn’t?”
The words slammed into Scott, and the memories came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. He was seven years old, his small hands clutching the highest stone on the giant rock wall under the pear tree. His heart thundered with a mix of terror and exhilaration as he teetered, unsure if he could make it to the top.
And then there was Kid Danger, crouched beside him, his voice steady and confident. “You’ve got this, Scotty. One more stone. Don’t stop now—you’re stronger than this.”
The memory twisted, morphing into another. He was fourteen, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he watched Bobby, cornered by two older kids. Fear clawed at his throat, thick and paralyzing, screaming at him to turn away, to leave before things got worse.
But then he’d heard it—Kid Danger’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the panic like a blade. “Stand up. Say something. You don’t let this happen—not on your watch.”
“You didn’t let fear stop you then,” Kid Danger said, his voice low but firm. “Why are you letting it stop you now?”
And then came the oldest, most painful memory.
The memory was fractured, like pieces of a dream that didn’t quite fit together. Scott could picture the little red car—bright, maybe with a yellow roof, or was it blue? The details were slippery. He remembered gripping the plastic wheel, warm under the summer sun, and laughing as the car bumped along, but the rest blurred into fragments.
He had been going too fast, the ground tilting and bouncing beneath him. There was the sound of his own laughter, high and bubbling, then a slope. A bump. A loud crash jolted his whole body. The pain came next—sharp and hot, wrapping his feet in fire, leaving everything else in the world distant and strange.
He remembered screaming, but it didn’t feel like his voice, and the sight of blood didn’t make sense. It was too bright, too wrong, like a smear of red on a picture. His dad’s voice was there, frantic and far away, tangled with the roar of the lawn mower and someone else yelling. All the noises folded together, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.
And then, like a soft thread in the chaos, came the voice.
“Hold on, Scotty. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here.”
He didn’t know where it came from, only that it felt steady and safe. It pulled him out of the noise just enough to keep him from sinking completely. He could feel his dad’s arms lifting him, the world tilting again, but the voice stayed with him, calm and sure.
The memory faded into something colder—a hospital room, gray ceiling tiles, and the quiet hum of machines. The pain had dulled to an ache by then, but the voice lingered in the back of his mind, like a whisper.
“You’re stronger than this too, Scotty. Just hold on.”
The memory twisted again, pulling him forward in time. He was older now, lying in a hospital bed after yet another surgery to repair more of the damage. The pain was a constant, unrelenting ache, stretching endlessly into the hours and days.
He remembered the sterile smell of the hospital room, the faint, rhythmic hum of the machines, and the dull gray ceiling he’d stared at for what felt like forever. The thought clawed at him, heavy and unshakable: What if I can’t do this?
But Kid Danger had been there. He was always there.
“One more surgery, Scotty,” his voice had urged, calm and steady, like a lifeline. “Just one more step, and you’ll be running down your path. I promise you.”
Scott staggered, the weight of the memories crashing over him like an unstoppable wave. He gripped the back of a chair, his legs trembling as he fought to stay upright. His chest felt tight, his breath hitching in shallow gasps as the realization began to take shape.
Kid Danger wasn’t just an imaginary friend. He wasn’t some harmless figment of Scott’s childhood imagination. He had been there—truly there—through every moment of pain, fear, and doubt. Guiding him. Pushing him. Refusing to let him give up.
“I don’t understand… ” Scott whispered, his voice barely a thread, trembling as his gaze met Kid Danger’s.
“You don’t have to,” Kid Danger said, his voice quieter now, but it carried a weight that seemed to fill the room. His grin softened into something gentler, but his eyes—they shimmered faintly, like they held the glow of distant stars. “You just need to remember.”
Scott’s head spun, the storm of memories swirling uncontrollably. But through the chaos, something about Kid Danger felt different, unplaceable. He wasn’t just familiar—he felt bigger, like he belonged to something beyond Scott’s understanding.
And yet, he’d always been there. Even when Scott tried to forget, Kid Danger was there and waiting.
Now, Scott could see him again.
“You disappeared,” Scott said, his voice barely a whisper. “When I got older, you were just… gone.”
Kid Danger’s grin softened, fading into something almost regretful. “I didn’t disappear, Scotty. You stopped listening.”
Scott stumbled back, his thoughts racing. “Why can I see you now? Why suddenly tonight?”
“Because you need me,” Kid Danger replied, his voice steady and calm.
“Need you for what?”
“To remember who you are,” Kid Danger said, stepping closer. His gaze pierced through Scott, as if seeing everything he’d tried to hide. “You’ve spent so long hiding, standing on the sidelines, pretending you’re okay with just surviving. But that’s not who you are, Scotty. That’s never been who you are.”
Scott’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening. He opened his mouth to argue, to push back, but the words caught in his throat. Kid Danger’s presence pressed against him.
“I don’t understand,” Scott said at last, his voice trembling, barely holding steady.
“You will,” Kid Danger said, his tone calm, unshakable. “But first, you’ve got to stop running from me.”
A memory surfaced, clear and undeniable—Kid Danger’s voice, steady and sure: “I’ll always have your back.”
The memories churned, swirling faster and faster before dissolving completely, leaving Scott breathless. He looked at Kid Danger, his chest tight, and the realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.
“You’re…” Scott began, the words catching in his throat. They felt heavy, foreign, and yet somehow inevitable. He stared at the green Converse, the familiar stance, and then it all clicked—like the last piece of a puzzle snapping into place.
It wasn’t just recognition. It was relief, and it nearly buckled his knees. “… you’re me…”
“There you go,” Kid Danger said, his voice softer now, almost proud.
Scott stumbled back, his mind reeling. “How is this possible?”
“How is it not?” Kid Danger replied, steady and certain. “When you were a kid, you needed someone to push you, to make you brave. So, I was there. But somewhere along the way, you decided you didn’t need me anymore. You locked me away, buried me under all the rules and fears you built for yourself, and ran as fast as you could.”
Scott swallowed hard, his throat tight. “And now?”
“Now?” Kid Danger leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now you need me again.”
Scott looked away, his chest aching under the weight of Kid Danger’s words.
“You don’t have to run from me,” Kid Danger said, his tone softening as the edge in his voice melted away. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to remind you who you are. To remind you who we are. Who you’ve always been.”
Scott hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. The thought of embracing this part of himself—the wild, untamed energy that Kid Danger embodied—terrified him. It felt dangerous, unpredictable, like stepping into a storm. But at the same time, it felt like a lifeline, something he couldn’t quite let go of.
“What if I’m not ready?” Scott asked, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.
Kid Danger smiled, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he shifted slightly, the green Converse squeaking against the floor. “You don’t have to be ready. You just have to take the first step.”
The noise of the party began to return, the sounds of laughter and music filling the room once more. But it felt different now—less overwhelming, less distant.
Scott stood, his legs shaky but steady enough. He looked at Kid Danger, his chest still tight but lighter than before.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” Scott’s voice wavered, a mix of hesitation and something deeper—hope.
Kid Danger’s grin softened into something warmer, something almost vulnerable. “I wouldn’t dare to.”
Scott’s chest tightened, the weight of the moment pressing against his ribs. He looked away, his eyes stinging, and let out a shaky breath. “I’ve felt so… lost. For so long.”
“I know,” Kid Danger said, his tone low but steady. “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”
The words hit Scott like a lifeline, pulling him from the storm he’d been drowning in for years. Slowly, he stood, his legs unsteady but carrying him forward.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, the fear wasn’t suffocating. It was still there, lingering at the edges, but it didn’t feel insurmountable. The uncertainty hadn’t vanished, but it no longer weighed on him like a constant reminder of failure. With Kid Danger beside him, Scott felt… balanced. Not invincible, but steady in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
“Let’s do this,” he said, the words quiet but firm, as though testing their weight.
Kid Danger’s grin shifted, softer now, like the flicker of light at the edge of dawn. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for, Scotty. It won’t all be smooth sailing—there are still tough days ahead. But I’ll be here when you need me. Always.”
Scott didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the words settle, grounding himself in the moment. He glanced at Kid Danger, the green Converse, the familiar stance, and felt something stir. It wasn’t a surge of confidence, not a sudden transformation. It was subtler than that—like an ember being coaxed back to life.
As they stepped forward together, side by side, Scott felt a quiet shift deep inside. His hands didn’t tremble. His breath came steady. It wasn’t about imagining who he might be anymore. He could feel the shape of it, taking form with every step he chose to take.
And this time, he wasn’t going to run away from it.
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