The summer of 1989 was all about what happened after dark. Not just for adolescent me, but for most of the pop-culture-loving world. That was the summer of Batman—to be precise, Batman, the first big-budget film about the Dark Knight. (It opened 22 years ago today.)
While that film was redefining the character worldwide for the next generation (and, likely, the one after that), I was tucked away in my Connecticut bedroom combining my lifelong love of superheroes with my evolving love of writing. And for better or for worse, that resulted in this:
Like staples much?
“Heroes Don’t Wear Black” was the only short story I wrote about a superhero. Well, until Boys of Steel. And at least one of those two titles made sense.
Below is the beginning of "Heroes Don't Wear Black." It's all kinds of tin-eared and plot-holed. Only the strongest would have the courage to read the rest.