Diclaimer: None of the characters or locations belong to me. Everything is DC's and WB's. Isn't it always?
Warnings: Will eventually include: swearing, m/m, sex, violence and procrasination.
Disease.
There was a city once, a place frost bitten in summer, where the bitter darkness was so thick it was merely black and the children grew up on streets paved with human meat, and mothers would scold them for picking up an errant finger from the floor because you don't know where it's been! There was a city once, festering in decay in the back of the minds of the outside world. Ignore it. It will go away. They stopped paying attention years ago, turning their noses up at rape victims, kicking the beggars with steel toe boots. Forget they exist. Someone else will take care of it. There was a city once, falling, falling down, no-one leaving trails where they tried to claw their way back out. A city where no-one cared and the rivers oozed with grimy mucus. And it spread, out far into the rich green land, consuming the naïve blades of grass in a toxic bubble of inky smog, lined with the malicious, putrid vomit glow. There was a city once. And it was dying.
And yet there was a flow, a current underneath the rivers of trash and faeces and maggot-infested body parts. Something was building amongst rancid fumes, sucking in the consuming bacteria like the breath of a new day, thriving under the plague. A virus worming its way through the anguished cries, blowing babies away like paper dolls, coming and going, lurking in the intestine splattered alleys coated in bilious hues. Always silent.
Except for that laugh.
When there's enough rabid filth, when even the roaches crawl away, of course it will sing out to the disease. Of course. And there aren't enough white... blood... cells in the place to take it down. The infected open sores drag them back down, blanketing them in heavy insanity. And when you wear the scourge and scum and every last vile, acidic, eroding parasitic piece of waste on your back, as a cloak, as a life line, the disease will inevitably follow you. Forever. To the edge of the living until it strikes you down, dragging you into its dank depths, never resting until you are his. And then it will multiply. Breed and move on. For a disease like that will never be curable, never be containable.
And yet, your only hope is to stop it from spreading.
A/N: So in case that wasn't clear, this was all one huge, pretentious metaphor for Mr J. No offence, my dear clown!
Just to let all you guys who are reading this know, what I've done is set out a whole bunch of prompts for myself to stimulate the ol' writing juices so I can get cracking on my main fics. They'll probably be anywhere between 100 and 1000 words each in length, so they won't be substantial. Hope some of you get something out of them anyway.
