In the shimmering city of Neo-Luma, where towers scraped the sky like giant metal pencils, lived a boy named John. His sneakers always squeaked—squeak-squeak—like a mouse in a hurry, and his backpack was stuffed with gadgets that beeped and blinked. But John’s favorite thing in the whole world was his sketchbook, its pages smelling of fresh paper and the faintest hint of banana (because he sometimes drew while eating lunch).

One evening, as the city hummed with the vroom of flying cars and the distant clang of robot street vendors, John sat on his fire escape, his toes dangling over the edge. The air smelled of rain and warm pretzels from the stall below. His sketchbook lay open, but his pencil just hovered, like a sleepy bee above a flower. Tonight was the night he had to draw *something important*—a story about one of his fears—for the Neo-Luma Story Contest. The winner got a ride in a real hover-blimp!

"I could draw about the dark," John muttered, but his pencil didn’t move. The dark was a sneaky thing, creeping into his room like a shadow with too many legs. Or maybe he could draw about the time he got stuck in the elevator, the walls pressing in like a giant’s hands. His stomach did a little flip just thinking about it. Ugh.

Then—WHAM!—his little sister, Mimi, zoomed around the corner on her hover-scooter, her pigtails flapping like flags in a storm. She skidded to a stop, spraying John’s sketchbook with a mist of something sticky and smelling suspiciously like bubblegum. Splortch.

"Mimi!" John yelped, wiping the page with his sleeve. The paper felt gritty now, like sand after a beach day. "You ruined it!"

Mimi grinned, her front teeth missing. "Oopsie! But look—now your page is *extra special*!" She pointed at the smudges. "It looks like a monster’s footprints!"

John blinked. The smudges *did* look like tiny, wobbly footprints. His fear of the dark suddenly didn’t seem so scary. What if the dark wasn’t a monster but just… a shy creature with big, curious eyes? His pencil twitched. Tap-tap.

With a deep breath, John started to draw. A city street at night, the streetlights glowing like fireflies. And there, in the corner, a little shadow-creature with round ears, peeking out from behind a trash can. Its fur was as soft as a kitten’s, and it smelled like… well, like bubblegum, actually. The creature wasn’t scary at all. It was just lonely.

John’s hand flew across the page. The shadow-creature tiptoed closer, its paws leaving tiny, smudgy footprints. It reached out a paw—plop!—and a streetlight flickered on, casting a warm, buttery glow. The creature giggled, a sound like wind chimes in a breeze. John giggled too.

By the time he finished, the city had quieted. The only sounds were the pitter-patter of Mimi’s snores (she’d fallen asleep on his bed, her hover-scooter still humming) and the distant honk of a night owl. John’s sketchbook lay open, the pages now filled with a story that made his heart feel as light as a balloon.

The next day, John handed his drawing to the judges. They gasped. "This is incredible!" one said, her eyes wide. "A story about facing your fears—and look how brave the little shadow is!"

And guess what? John won the contest. But the best part wasn’t the hover-blimp ride (though that was amazing, the wind whipping his hair like a wild thing). The best part was the look on Mimi’s face when she saw the shadow-creature in his drawing. "It’s me!" she squealed, pointing at the tiny footprints. "I’m the brave one!"

John laughed so hard his sides hurt. Maybe his fears weren’t so big after all. Maybe they were just little shadows, waiting for a story to make them smile.