Dark Humour

Description: Bruce Wayne wakes up after a destructive explosion, with sorrow in his heart and darkness in his mind. Based on Christopher Nolan's Batman film, The Dark Knight.

"You wanna know how I got these scars? My father…was a gambler. And he never, ever, ever, ever won! It made me sad… So he came to me one day, after losing again, and put a razor in my mouth. He said: 'Son, you need to smile more!' And he did this… and now I get it! Now I'm always smiling! Hahahaha! Now, your turn Master Wayne. Master Wayne! Master Wayne, wake up!"

Light. White Walls. Alfred. Where was I? My manor. My memory was flooding back to me now. The explosion. Harvey Dent. Rachel, my love… 'Master Wayne, are you all right?" I snapped back to consciousness and looked at Alfred, who had never addressed me so timidly before. "I was having that dream again Alfred…. about him."

"I know Master Wayne. Your reactions… they aren't getting any less violent either…" Alfred's voice trailed off as he stood up and faced the window, as though he could not stand the sight of me.

I knew what it was. My reactions to my dreams troubled him. They were of the malevolent 'clown' figure that had poisoned Gotham – who had escalated gang violence and created a whirlwind of destruction which had almost claimed Gotham itself. He had slipped from police Commissioner Gordon's grasp, revealing himself only to take revenge on his former associates.

But he was still omnipresent in my dreams. I could not escape him in the one place that I needed solace. Sometimes he would appear, telling a new story about how he got his distinctive, hideous scars that made him permanently 'smile' – the scars that would forever haunt those who had suffered at his hand.

Those I could deal with. It was the emotional scars that he had inflicted on me that caused the most pain. Remembering the explosion had claimed the life of the most important person in my life, as well as the most important man in Gotham. I was never even meant to be there had it not been for Falcone. He had forewarned me of the plans to kill Rachel Dawes. The plan was not executed with me in mind, however. The puppet master was not aware of my love for her. It was to destroy the will of her husband-to-be, Harvey Dent. Falcone, the former mafia chieftain, wanted the clown dead, so he could be the kingpin of the Gotham underworld again. So he told me when and where it would go down – with the caveat of immunity of course.

But in making a deal with the devil, I had lost spectacularly. Falcone 'neglected' to mention that he had also told Dent, who was the DA of the city and the man responsible for jailing nearly all of Gotham's major criminals. This resulted in the Gotham police force attempting to stop this crime. Falcone also 'failed' to mention that explosives were loaded into the walls like housing insulation.

Falcone saw this as the ultimate opportunity to remove all of those who would stand in his way of supremacy. To eradicate me and all his rivals in one terrible fire. I remember it like it was yesterday, seeing Rachel captive, Dent rushing to free her, both being consumed in the fire. Many police officers perished with Rachel and the DA. Like moths to a flame. Only I survived.

As well as the darkness.

He, forged in fire, was not claimed by the fire. And in his survival, he would claim the lives of those who had double crossed him. Falcone was later found with his head on a spike and a playing card at its base. The Chechen was next, as he was responsible for placing the explosives that were meant to destroy the maniac. He was poisoned and placed within the food served in the banquet, which was to celebrate the Chechen's rise to second-in-command. All at the banquet died. Gambit was the only member that was still living, and was currently under police custody.

I snapped out of my disturbing nightmare when I saw something that I had not seen for a long time. The Bat-signal. Trouble was afoot. It seemed like muscle memory as I rushed to where my suit was placed. I could vaguely hear Alfred calling after me, advising me to stay. The head injury that I had sustained was too much. My emotional trauma would affect Batman's inherent morals. I told him that I had seen the Bat-signal, and that I must answer its call. I could hear confusion in his voice. He called out to me, though I did not hear him. Alfred did not understand. Alfred had not seen what I had. The one responsible for the emotional and physical trauma inflicted on me would pay. Morals be damned.

When I reached the signal, I was surprised to see Gambit there. Was he not meant to be with the police? It was foolish for him to be here, near the most well-known signal in the city. When he saw me, he stood up. However, before he could utter words, he was violently struck down. By my own blades? How was that possible? I had not fired.

That meant one thing. He was here at last. And when I saw the scars that formed the crazy twisted smile that haunted my every sleeping thought, I charged. He did not move, as though he had accepted his fate. And when I put my fist through his face, he shattered, like a pane of glass.

And then it all came flooding back to me. My nemesis had indeed been consumed by the flames, and in my rage at his actions, I had killed all of those who I deemed responsible. I had killed Falcone, the Chechen, and now Gambit. I had subconsciously allowed the darkness to survive that day, so that I would be blissfully ignorant of my actions.

I remembered why Alfred would not look at me now: even though Rachel had died, I was still happy. Now I'm always smiling.

I saw Gambit was breathing faintly, the blades having not been fatal. "You wanna know how I got these scars…"