Hello! IM BLOCKED LMAO. sO idk what this is but I wanted to write something so here u go.
Knowing death.
Jason parked his motorcycle in the entrance of the graveyard. Coming here had always felt rather morbid, like a twisting sickness coiling around his bones. He felt more as a murderer returning to a crime scene, than a ghost visiting his own grave. It wasn't that far from the truth either. Jason Todd had, in many ways, killed the child that didn't lie here.
His boots made heavy steps on the stone path. They resounded around the space like gunshots to his madman ears. He had the urge to curl in, away from the too familiar scene painted by the rows of graves upon soft grass. The chilling air of midnight took bites of his face. It made Jason think about nakedness, even more than he did without clothes. A mask was a whole outfit, or so he thought —or so he was taught.
It did not matter, there was no one around to see. Except, perhaps, the memory of a too small boy sitting upon the stone, shining like a beaten hero under the moonlight.
Jason snorted, his feet coming to a stop. What a stupid idea.
The uncomfortable feeling in his stomach had yet to disappear. He paid it no mind, there was something more important nagging at his mind since a while back. It had the form of a green haze, and soft blue eyes, and the sound of warm voices in the darkness.
It had been some time since his last visit to the empty casket buried in this place. There weren't many reasons to come and pay honors to a spirit that had no mind or soul left to understand. Jason understood it was sickening, but he wasn't about to question the small relief. He fidgeted, and decided to sit in the grass, in front of the solid stone that glared at him with the reflected shine of the moon.
He took a few deep breaths. His hair stood on end. Jason felt unreasonably nervous, even knowing the privacy of his next few words.
To speak of it, to ground, and give form to his feelings made a petrifying tingling spread across his spine. Despite the clench of trepidation in his gut, he pushed his pushed his mouth open, and talked.
"There is something I want to tell you," he started. "that I haven't told anyone else. It's not as gloomy as the last time we talked, but I still want to warn you it's pretty fucked up. So you know the protocol, soldier, you gotta keep it a secret."
Jason laughed at his own joke. He took a fistful of dry grass and pulled it from the ground. It was a disgustingly familiar action that made panic creep up his throat.
"Life's taking a weird turn, somewhere I did not expect. I'm hoping you can help me with it, since you always were a heartbreaker. There are no supermodels in our future, which may sound disappointing. But there's a boy. And, heh, at least he's the closest to it I could think of. His face is in the cover of all magazines! And he's even respected back in the Narrows, so you know he's a big name.
"I don't think he likes us back." Jason said, voice low, because it was hard to admit it to his own corpse. How unlovable he felt, after everything. "You see, I know you don't know him yet, but you're gonna hate it as soon as you see him. And that's going to fuck everything up. It's been six years since I was you, and I have never regretted something quite so much.
"I won't spoil you the future. But, because I don't know how this time thing works when you're death, I wanted to warn you. If you're somewhere you can hear it, then just… Kiss him when you've got the chance. Apologize for the time you almost killed him (and, see? Here's where it gets fucked up), and perhaps don't write in the walls with his blood. It's not as good as you'd think when you want to land a date.
"Lastly, if you're too gone to follow any advice, then I forgive you."
Because Jason wasn't so naïve as to think anything could happen to change the course of things. But he knew of the importance of forgiving himself for the small things he could never change. He licked his lips, they tasted like blood, and pushed himself up. His words dying with the wind, leaving an unchanged world, and traces of guilt remaining into his tattered mind.
He walked away slowly. Retraced the steps back to the real world, where things like love where meaningless, and his precarious partnership with Tim Drake was important only to him. It was like peeling another layer of skin, being more of a living carnage than before. He felt like a raw nerve being pressed against a knife.
In his way out, the rustle of small leaves, and old echoes accompanied his thoughts.
835 words.
Ilyall thamk for reading leave a comment *muack*.