Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters belong to DC Comics. The poem is by someone. I forgot whom. No intentional copyright infringement is intended through their use.
Note: I don't know why I wrote this story. I don't know why I used this poem. I just needed to get this outta my head. I know it's not very good, but even so, please review. Thanks.
Are you there, God?
By Casey Toh
"Hey Mom! Dad!" A young boy of no more than eight skipped in front of his parents, wielding an imaginary sword and battling made-believed enemies. "I'm Zorro!"
The small, petite mother smiled in adoration at her hyperactive son as she linked arms with her husband. "Bruce, don't run too far ahead!"
The three of them entered a dark alley, and the couple tightened their hold on each other, drawing their son to walk in between them.
A homeless person called out to them. "Hey mister! Got some spare change?"
The father did not answer, only urged his family faster forward. Then, a group of teens suddenly appeared out of nowhere and blocked their way. "Hand over anything valuable, mister. Surely you don't want the missus and the young sir to be hurt."
The father pulled his wife and son to him. "No. Leave us alone."
One took a step forward, full of menace. "I won't ask twice, mister."
The father charged at the teens as the mother pulled young Bruce behind her, shielding him with her own body. The boy cringed as he saw his father getting into a fight.
Then…Bang! Bang!
Time stopped. His mother's body jerked and went stiff. The pearl necklace she was wearing dropped bead by bead. Tick! Tick! Tick! A lone, single rose left her fingers and hit the ground.
He remembered staring at the night sky where his mother's head had been only moments ago.
*The sky is deep; the sky is dark. The light of stars is so damn stark.*
The sound of two bodies hitting the cold, wet ground and wild laughter was all that he could hear. "NOOOO!!!"
***
"Master Bruce, would you prefer to retire to your room?" A kindly middle-aged man held the boy's small hand in his own.
Young Bruce Wayne shook his head no, and continued listening to the priest. "… May they rest in peace God will receive and bless them…"
He stopped listening then, and wandered out of the house. Where did Mom and Dad go to? Will God really receive them? He glanced up at the heavens.
*When I look up, I fill with fear. If all we have is
what lies here.*
They must be somewhere else, but not with me, he decided. Not with me.
***
"Master Bruce, you should eat something," Alfred Pennyworth, now legal guardian of young Bruce Wayne insisted.
The boy did not answer, only gazed off into space from his slouched position in the armchair. For weeks, he had done nothing but sit and stare for the whole day. Food had to be forced to be eaten.
This time, his response was to head outside and once again consulted the skies. His parents used to watch the stars and point out constellations to him. Now they are gone.
*This lonely world, this troubled place. Then cold dead stars and empty space.*
They were gone.
***
"Should I change the channel?" Alfred inquired.
Bruce didn't respond. He kept his hands between him and the backrest of the crouch.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred reached over to pull the boy's hands out, seeing it covered with blood. A razor blade was in his right hand. Alfred carefully but hurriedly took it away. "Master Bruce!"
*Well, I see no reason to persevere. No reason to laugh or shed a tear. No reason to sleep or ever to wake. No promises to keep and none to make.*
***
"It's the Batman!" someone yelled in fear. "Run!" The group of teens of a gang dropped their weapons and ran, but didn't get very far before bolas whirled out of the darkness to bind them.
The man on the low roof took one look at the family of three he had saved, then turned and left.
Once he was out of sight, he stopped, and gazed at the sky; stars and the moon decorating it. It was far too lifeless and empty. Would there be anyone out there?
*So at night I still raise my eyes, to study the clear but mysterious skies. That huge arch above us, cold as stone. Are you there, God? Are we alone?*
He turned away, hoping that somewhere, in another place and time, they would be proud of him.
THE END