Kelly McQuain: Boy Wonder in Bondage Or,

 Robin gets snared by Wonder Woman’s magic lasso

Of course it would have to be her, 
binding me with her Lasso of Truth   
--a joke to pass the time, now in   
a rare moment when the world needs no  
saving. This, my hazing, I suppose, 
among my so-called super friends, 
an initiation to mark me  as one of them 
the way Superman had to rescue 
an airplane wearing nothing but 
his cape, or how Aquaman had to 
swallow that goldfish (I think he   
heard it telepathically screaming inside his  
stomach). I understand the need for 
ritual just the same as I 
understand this magic rope’s history: forged by the 
hammer of Hephaestus from the Golden Girdle of  
Gaea, inflamed by Hestia with the power to 
make mankind obey. But Wonder Woman shouldn’t ask
a question I’d rather bite off my tongue than answer. 
I’ve been beaten, stabbed, gassed, shot at, 
knocked unconscious and hogtied more times 
than I can count. But this... this is worse than the Legion
of Doom’s darkest scheme.  “So tell us, 
Robin,” Diana commands, her fine  
Amazonian beauty marred 
by a smirk. “How do you really feel 
about Batman?” Her golden chain constricts me like a
snake. My Dark Knight looks at me and   
then looks away. I have no choice but   
to obey. I think of the box of 
Itch Powder in Flash’s boots, the 
Martian Manhunter and exploding
cigars. This time they go too far. 
“I love him,” I finally say. “Always have. Always will.”


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