The gotham knight
I do not own Batman or anything like that, DC does. But I do own this particular story. I'm writing this to practice my writing skills for a novel, so give me your opinion. Here we go…
Bruce stepped out from the dojo. His master looked back at him from inside and smiled. Bruce smiled back uncertainly. He had fulfilled his job of training. He had been doing this for years. Now he was going back home. Back to Gotham City. He was sixteen, and a normal teenager, except for the tiny fact that he was the heir to a billion dollar company. Bruce Wayne was the next in line to inherit Wayne Enterprises. As soon as he finished college, he would be going to inherit the fortune his parents had. But his parents were dead. He had to inherit it from some new guy. It made him feel terrible, that the fame was belonging to some random person rather than his own family. He was on his way to the airport.
Bruce snapped up as the plane got ready for takeoff. He watched as he lifted on the ground into the flying plane. He heard the scream of a little girl. It reminded him of when he was like that… when he had fears.
Bruce was eight, with his mother and father. They were at a live Gotham theatre, watching the winning play called
"The Night of the Dark", a brilliant story of travelers encountering strange creatures in the night in a forest. "We came to watch this!?" his father grumbled. His mother nudged him. Thomas Wayne sure wasn't enjoying the show as much as his wife was. Bruce shuddered in his seat as the creatures came out.
The air of the theatre was filled with the screeching sounds of bats. Bruce closed his eyes in fear. The very sound brought back shocking memories of the day he was attacked by bats. Seemingly an endless swarm flying all over him and all around him. The sound grew louder and he could practically feel them on his skin. "Bruce," his mother called. "Are you alright?"
Bruce pried his eyes open and saw black shady figures in the darkness swinging on wires. Then men in uniforms came out from the shadows in black and grabbed the heroes, pulling them into the shadows. The image of bats flashed through Bruce's mind. "Ah!" he yelled, busting up from his seat. He ran as fast as he could out the theatre room and into the bathroom.
Bruce curled up in the corner of the disgusting bathroom. A roach crawled by him, but he was too distracted with fear. The door swung open, and Bruce looked up to see his father. "Bruce…" he sighed. "What happened."
"I was scared…" Bruce said back, sobbing. "Remembering the bats?" his father asked. Bruce nodded. Tears began to flood his eyes. "Come on, we can go," Thomas Wayne said. It was a dump play anyway.
The small family walked from the theatre, into the cold dark knight. "Where did we park?" Bruce's mother wondered aloud. Then, a figure rose from the shadow. "Stop!" he cried. Bruce's mother screamed as they all turned to the figure. He stepped out into the lights of the theatre porch. Joe Chill in the flesh, holding a revolver. Bruce cringed and backed up to his father. "Bruce, go back in the theatre!" Thomas whispered to Bruce. "I know you…" Joe Chill began menacingly. "You're the famous Waynes. I know you're loaded so cough up!"
He cocked the gun. Bruce slowly eased back to the steps to the theatre. He tripped and stumbled backward, landing hard on the steps.
"And you," Chill continued. "The newest little boy in the family."
"Look," Thomas said. "Why don't you just put the gun down, and go home!?"
A noisy police car came rolling in. More of them. "Hurry!" Chill urged. "Police are coming why don't you jus-"
There is where Thomas Wayne made the fatal mistake of stepping forward. Joe yelled and shot the gun, landing right in Thomas Wayne's chest. He collapsed on the ground, and a bloody pool emerged around him. "Dad!" Bruce yelled. "Freeze!" The police yelled. More cars came up. Mrs. Wayne screamed as a bullet came to her head. She fell beside her husband. Joe Chill ran, as he was pursued by four officers. Bruce ran over to his father.
"Dad!" Bruce cried sadly. His eyes welled up and flooded over with tears as he shook his father's cold arm. Thomas coughed up a small amount of blood. "Bruce…" he said wearily, his eyes filled with tears. "Go…" he said. His head collapsed to the ground. Thomas Wayne was dead. So was Bruce's mother. "No!" Young Bruce cried. Eight years old and already an orphan. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and his throat was welling up. "No…" he repeated, letting down his father's cold arm. Ever since then, Bruce was different. He wasn't innocent or naïve. He wasn't a child anymore. He was destiny…