Theodore’s shoes squelched as he walked through the neon-lit streets of Sparkle City. The air smelled like bubblegum and rain, sweet and tangy, while the hum of floating cars buzzed in his ears like a swarm of sleepy bees. His fingers brushed against the rough, bumpy wall of the hover-bus stop—it felt like the skin of a dragon’s back, but friendlier.

Tonight was the night. The Big Night. The Night of the Glow Show, where all the bravest kids in Sparkle City got their scrapes and cuts turned into shimmering, rainbow-colored bandages. Whoosh! A hologram of a dancing nurse flickered above the clinic door, waving a glowing syringe. Theodore’s stomach did a little flip. Not because he was scared—oh no—but because he really wanted one of those bandages. The kind that sparkled like fireworks and made your friends go, "Ooooh!"

There was just one problem. A tiny, wriggly problem. A problem that made his knees wobble like jelly on a trampoline. Blood. Not even a lot of it. Just a drop. A speck. But Theodore’s brain turned into a squeaky mouse every time he saw it. Eek! Eek! His heart would pound like a drum in a parade, and his hands would turn into two clammy fish flopping around.

"You can do this," Theodore whispered to himself, squeezing his lucky rubber duck (yes, he carried it everywhere). The duck quacked back, but it sounded suspiciously like, "Maybe not."

Inside the clinic, the floor was squishy under his feet, like walking on a giant marshmallow. A nurse with hair as pink as cotton candy handed him a lollipop. Crunch! The candy tasted like lightning—sweet and fizzy. "First time?" she asked, her voice as warm as a hug. Theodore nodded so hard his teeth rattled. The nurse grinned. "Don’t worry. It’s just a tiny poke. Like a mosquito kiss."

But Theodore knew better. Mosquitoes were evil. They left itchy bumps and—gasp—sometimes a drop of blood. His breath hitched. The room started to spin, like he was inside a washing machine. Whirrr… whirrr…

Then—DISASTER. His rubber duck slipped from his sweaty fingers and bonked the nurse’s tray. Clatter! Clink! Splash! A tiny vial of glowing blue liquid tipped over, dribbling onto the floor like a sad, sparkly waterfall. The nurse gasped. Theodore gasped louder. His face turned the color of a ripe tomato. "I—I didn’t mean to!" he squeaked.

The nurse blinked. Then she laughed—a sound like wind chimes in a breeze. "Oh dear. That’s not blood, silly! That’s just glow juice. It makes the bandages shine!" She dabbed at the spill with a cloth, and the blue liquid fizzed and giggled, like it was tickled. Theodore’s shoulders relaxed. His rubber duck quacked in relief.

"Now," said the nurse, holding up a tiny needle. It looked like a silver thread. "Ready?" Theodore gulped. His hands were still fish, but this time, they were determined fish. He squeezed his eyes shut. One… two…

Poke.

It was… nothing. Like a pinch from a kitten. Theodore opened one eye. Then the other. On his finger was a single, perfect drop of blood. And it wasn’t scary. It was tiny. Like a ruby. Like a secret. The nurse pressed a glowing bandage over it, and—POP!—it burst into colors, swirling like a galaxy in his palm. "Whoa," Theodore breathed. It tickled. It was cool.

Outside, the city lights twinkled like a thousand fireflies. Theodore skipped home, his new bandage pulsing with light. His rubber duck rode on his shoulder, quacking proudly. And when he tripped over his own shoelaces (because of course he did) and scraped his knee, he barely flinched. "Just a mosquito kiss," he said, giggling. Then he stuck on another glowing bandage—this one shaped like a rocket ship—and zoomed off into the night.

The end.