Quoth the Raven, Nevermore
The rain seem endless. Droplets that fell time and time again seem to wash away the terror, the blood off the streets and walls of the earthern world. I saw the shadows of the night fall and pass, the sunlight of the day dissapear and reaper-- my existance flailing in the delicate balance of purpose. What was the use? Everything that was familiar -- everything that came to be with time as thread, has vanished. They have all scattered their sanity, their destinies. I cannot sense their emotions anymore. As for myself, I feel nothing. No sorrow, no anger. Not even the slightest shimmer of light or darkness, a small reconginition of being alive. I am dead in the physical sense. I do not move, my physical corspe has detained all desire, all need and surrendered it to my mind. The Raven is alone, once again.
Somehow I am aware of their movements, of each of their needed breaths. I am aware of their pains, their sorrows, for I need their emotions since mines are long gone. The Robin who stood so proudly, so arogantly, has flown away from his nest and become one with the shadows. He now stands in solace of the moonlight, his eyes have not seen the light for many years now. They have been too blurred with tears to bear recognition of anything good anymore. His heart bears a scar that he cannot heal, he has hidden it away. It was not her intention he knows, and he feels as if he could detest himself, but the love he felt for her has turned cold and bitter. He shows no hope of her return, but in her heart, it burns so brightly! The candle has burned itself away all these years, I bear what I used to classify as pity when that candle goes out for the one who long ago called himself boy wonder.
Perhaps he has suffered far worst than all of us, I fear. His nature was far too jovial and lively for my taste. When I first became aquainted with him I abandoned all possibility of even trying to understand his will to go on. That smile of his, oh how it broke me. How it made me so very envious. He mistook my envy for hate, and I did not blame him. I treated him indifferently. I felt no need to do otherwise. He lived in another world I have grown cold to for I had never known it. It was full of laughter and dreams, lullaby's and alluring scenes. I was cast in shackles, in a barron wasteland. He allowed fairytales, I wanted the truth. But I felt such a spiteful and undeserving being some time after. For when I saw him fall, his tears drop without notice, I was lulled into the sense that his reality was not so very far away from mines. Her death detached him from his dream world. Even I could not reach him. He had tried to reaquaint himself with me not long ago, but all efforts were futile. Once again, I pushed him away and found the sea between us grow larger and more untangiable.
I always thought it childish -- the sense of right and wrong that we as children breathed so very dearly. But the one who established it firmly, who lived by it -- it was her. She was beautiful, there was no doubt. She had eyes that shamed the vibrant emeralds upon a kings crown. Her hair was a crimson red, the color of the blood that I have tasted and shed. Her spirit was undamaged, untainted as far as I was concern. But it was her sense of right and wrong, good and bad, that led her astray from her original destiny. In due time she would have left us for her planet, but that battle -- oh how it lay waste to all our futures! One decision, instantanious, ruined and deterioated all good that was to come. I do not know whether she has been informed of our closure as a team, as friends, for I cannot find her anymore. The veil of time is far too powerful for even I to lift it. But the truth still stands -- if she knew, she would not become corrupt. She would not break down as we all have. Her sense of justice would prevail and she would try, until both physically and emotionally incapable, to reunite what she tore apart.
I do not blame her, for doing so would prove me far more insane that I am already am. I know this for a fact. I hallucinate of her return, dream of nightmares I've never glanced at. See things that are hidden from all -- insanity has submerged me into a black void. The shadow, at first was welcome. I need solace and solitude for my grief. It would be apparent to the outsider that Robin who shared a deeper love with her than anyone of us could establish -- would suffer far worse. But no, it is I that I more damaged. For Robin had his precious Gotham City to return to. I had nothing. By leaving, she had taken away the very first friend I ever gained who was willing to break down my barriers and create a bond.
Perhaps I am being selfish. That thought seems reasonable enough. But nothing in my somewhat current existance makes sense anymore. Yet I know that I am not the only know at the brink of complete insanity. Robin -- NightWing-- as he towers a great shadow on the rooftops of Jump City, do you not think he does not consider to jump? Do you not think he feels that salvation from grief and pain is at the bottom awaiting him? Beast Boy -- how he has suffered in the public eye as a hero. But the true hero inside of him is the one with the permanate damage. He blames himself for not being able to save Terra, and not being able to lead the team. He feels a failure and welcomes death with open arms.
Cyborg -- he is condemed to a one-sided existance. His technology has long been labeled as obsolete, and he is beginning to label himself in the same way. How torturous it must be looking at the quaters which were occupied by former teamates. How he must see ghost fighting over television controls, or brilliant smiles from the princess. His strenght, for he is not yet completly broken, is amazing.
And me?
I was always different -- this much I did not delude myself about. When I look at myself in the shards of a broken, but still reflective mirror, I see dark tresses. My eyes seem to hold no emotion, and my soul seems to be lifeless. My movements limp, automatic. My voice hoarse, tired of speaking to the silence. I am pale, as pale as those who were not amongst the living existance. I know, deep within my soul, that it is I who has had it worse. For not only am I alone in my own grief, I am forced to carry those of the others. My wings have withered to but a few feathers. Sometimes I do wish I had fallen in battle for my naivette. I cannot hold much longer in this desolate room, that contains only hallucinations of desire long vanished. At last, the Raven has fallen.