My name is Bruce. I am eight years old. My mommy's name is Martha, and my daddy is Thomas. We live in Wayne mansion, which smells funny. It smells like Alfred, my butler.
My daddy is taking me to see Zorro at the movies tonight. Alfred told me all about Zorro before, but my mommy heard him and he got in trouble. Then she made me read the Bible as punishment. I don't know why, since God would probably like Zorro.
We're coming out of the movie. I'm jumping around like Zorro, saving my maths teacher from some banditos. I can see a small man by a fire. He smells like pee. My daddy is scared, and pulls me close. The man is walking towards us.
I'm behind my daddy, fighting the banditos, when I hear the bang and see the flash. The man is running, and my mommy and daddy are lying in the snow.
Red on white. Like Santa. They're not moving. I try to wake them up. There are other people pulling at me, flashing lights, shouting. I just want to wake my daddy up. Why won't they let me near my daddy?
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It has been ten years. The man was never found. I'm standing in the rain by the grave. Someone put lilies at the headstone. They were her favourite. The roses I left last time are wilting.
Red roses against white lilies.
Alfred is long dead. He died of a stroke while I was visiting them two years ago. I couldn't even be there for that. I miss him, especially when I remember when I was younger. We would sit in front of the fire, and he would tell me stories about England, and the war he served in. Serving tea to the Queen, helping William dig deep holes in the forest. Heh. He never did say what that was for.
Oh God, I'm laughing. At my parents graveside. I can't be here. I have to get out. I have to get away. I have to…
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After thirteen years, I return to the place where it happened. There's a small brass plaque there. But nowhere else. Not for the countless others this hell-hole has claimed. Gotham City is lost, irredeemable.
I can see a cop taking a bride to my left. To the left, I see several prostitutes, quite openly selling their wares. Am I the only one who cares? Because if I am, we truly are the lost.
The sun is setting. Overhead, the first of tonight's bats are taking wing. Hate those things. With their squeaky cries, leathery wings… just like what mom used to make me read about as punishment. The demons that would punish the unholy for all eternity. I'm starting to wonder…
Will hell be big enough?
The car is waiting. Around me, I can see the dregs of "society", curled up in cardboard boxes, pulling food from trashcans. This is not what the world should be. But it is. I climb into the car, slamming the door so hard I crack a window.
"Home." The prototype self-driven car is a success, at least.
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I sitting in my apartment, in darkness. I've been drinking for several hours. Seems I didn't inherit the famous Wayne constitution. I'll regret it in the morning, but right now, I don't care about the hangovers, or the chance we'll lose the Japanese investors if I show up drunk tomorrow.
Bile rises in my throat, bitter and sobering. I'm watching tv. They're talking about how some nuns were raped by a gang.
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Children murdered because of money.
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An ad for toothpaste.
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Porn.
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Porn again.
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Godamnit, where is all this porn coming from?!
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The anniversary of some meteor crash in Kansas. Commemorating the seventy people killed.
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Jack Daniels ad.
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A drug related murder.
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Terrorist attacks. Two hundred killed.
The glass shatters. The shards slice my hand pretty good. A. L. F. R. E. D. bustles into action, sweeping it up and draining the whiskey out of the carpet. I programmed it myself. The bandages are on my hand before I even feel the pain.
Now I'm walking to bed. I remember falling by the door.
Its dark now. I see my father, lying in the snow. Blood pooling around his chest. I'm crying and I don't even know why. My mother is a few feet away, her eyes glassy. As old as she would ever be.
A bat flies by overhead. Old, powerful.
The shattering pane of glass wakes me up. There's a bat above my head. Looking at me. Old as the night. Faceless, incorruptible, implacable. And I finallly understand.
Thank you, father.
Thank you.