Okay, just to be clear I have no idea where I'm going with this. I've written fanfics before and I never seem to follow through with them so I'm not making any promises guys. But I do want to write more and the categories may change as I do because all I stared of with was a stupid idea I had at 4 in the morning.
Chapter One:Party For One
Ivory White stood on the brink of destruction, the beauty of the chaos she created filling her with an addictive rush which was fleeting and sweet and would soon need replenishing. Below her she could hear their muffled pleading, interrupting her moment of euphoric bliss like a knife in an open wound. Her annoyance lead her to proceed, the thought of the moment no longer satisfying her insane lust to purge. Gotham was silent tonight, not a peaceful silence, but the silence of held breath. This city was in a constant state of unease and Ivory felt like royalty as she considered it her hostage, her concrete victim to do with as she pleased.
On the edge of the Narrows, in a desolate and decrepit neighbourhood crippled by crime and dilapidated beyond the imagination, on a high building of broken down council flats, stood a small fragile figure. Ivory looked over Gotham, draped in beautiful darkness, the lights of the city shone like beacons of hope, as if the city refused to roll over and die and would resist the hand of fate until its dying breath. Ivory smiled, her prey – no. . . her audience was perfect.
She turned away from the city to her current company. On top this monument of Gothams poverty along with this child of destruction were eighteen nobody's. Tied up and gagged. The roof of the building was rotting and part of it had collapsed in, revealing the top floor of the council flats. Ivory looked down through the splintered gap into the first floor where her victims lay, crawling and wriggling over one another. Some pleading, some crying. But all fearing her. She had neglected the blindfolds, she wanted them to see her, to know her as their demise.
She had chosen them not at random, but yet random all the same. A banker to represent her hatred for money and the idea of its privileged position in society. Along with this man of whom was short and stubby with an extremely unconvincing comb over were his two colleagues, the owner of the Gotham Merchants bank and the head of the treasury. They lay on the floor like the sacks of papery lies they lived for. However they didn't all mean something, other than the bankers, two cops, a judge, a news reporter and some guy she just happened to be interviewing about the state of Gothams park benches, meant nothing to her and were just unlucky to cross her path. These unlucky individuals consisted of a group of girls no older than Ivory who had been out partying and unluckily got into the wrong cab, two families who's homes she had broken into, one of which had a four year old son at school at the time who she had spared out of nothing more than convenience and a smattering of plain ordinary people, Gothamites. Here she had the city, her own private part of it in her grasp. These were the people, the chosen few who would help her transformation. Ivory loved them all in a twisted way, she loved them and would remember them as some sort of family to her, even as they looked up at her with fear stricken faces and sorrowful moans.
She felt the rush hit her again. Just a little longer, she thought to herself, just a little longer and then I'll do it, just hold on for a little longer is all.
Today was her birthday, she was eighteen. And these were her candles. But these were no ordinary candles, these were the souls that would set her path in fire forever. This was the brink of destruction because after this night Ivory white would die forever, she would be a criminal, they would peruse her and her life would be changed forever. Many times had she got to this point and retreated, too scared to make the leap from dreams to reality, too scared to make the leap into free fall. But not tonight.
Tonight she was a woman, not a girl and tonight she would do it, this time. She narrowed her eyes and watched her victims squirm for a little longer relishing her high. She reached for a can of gasoline and begun to sprinkle her candles, dancing and signing as she did. It was different this time, there could be no going back.
It then occurred to her that she should have some proper music on her birthday and reaching for her phone she searched her music library for something . . . fitting, passing up Numa Numa and the Pokemon theme tune despite their amusing appeal. Finally resting her thumb on the last song she'd hear as Ivory White. And the first as her new self.
Is this the real life, or is this fantasy
She smiled to herself, as she put her earphones in, this was both a song for her funeral and her christening. Her victims watched her intently, on edge as they felt fear grip them and their helplessness choke their hope of rescue.
caught in a land slide, no escape from reality. Open you eyes look up to the sky's and seeeeee. . . .
The song went on, her singing it as if it would be the last time she could sing. She again picked up the gasoline and dowsed her hostages, more than necessary, but hey, it was her birthday. She threw the can off the building in an eccentric over arm throw, spreading her hands out as if she were about to bow.
Cause its easy come, easy go, little hight, little low.
"Cause its easy come, easy go, little hight, little low".
She flipped her lighter cap
Anyway the wind blow, doesn't really matter to me.
"Anyway the wind blow, doesn't really matter to me".
She pulled her thumb down the jagged switch igniting the flame.
To me.
"To me".
And time froze as she dropped it through the air towards her captives, the whites of their eyes widening and dripping with the tears of terror. The minute it hit the pile of squirming flesh the air was filed with eighteen painful screams as fire shot into the air, each body writhing helplessly as Ivory watched, a giddy smile spreading across her face. The greasy banker was the first to go, soaked in gasoline he went up like a fire cracker his co workers feeling the burning of their own soaked bodies and they wriggled in the flames. One of the girls was almost breaking her bonds and Ivory, fearing she would, pulled out her gun. She aimed, despite her amateur skills she supposed she was able to hit the girl. But that would make her special, why should she get a free pass?
Ivory watched as the girl almost broke free, but died as the pain of her body on fire eventually got to be too much for her, the smoke choking her lungs.
Two minutes passed and eventually the last body, the body of the mother of the four year old boy Ivory felt was lucky not to be home, stiffened and ceased.
". . . To me".
In the midst of the Gotham night a single flame was seen from all buildings in the Narrows and even beyond that, on a high building too far to properly see without squinting but not far enough to feel safe, a baptism of fire was occurring.
Many eye witnesses record seeing a girl, arms raised singing Bohemian Rhapsody, though shouting would have been more accurate. That she had looked like the devil, a demon of the night surrounded by screaming and music.
Ivory was dead, who she had been, who she was. And in the now lifeless burning carcases of her witnesses, who had been carefully strapped down and positioned, burned her new identity. A name Gotham would fear.
This was her first work of art.