Rorschach's Journal, October 12th , 1984
Saved a girl from vermin tonight-- seems to repeat like every other night in a hell hole for a city. Killed all of them. Pockets were full of roofies and poppers. Girl with bleeding nose and garish, smeared lipstick tried to kiss me. Broke her fingers. She cried all the colours and fake eyelashes off and bled on the pavement. Killed her. She was just like all the others. Whores are blending in with humans—can't tell the difference anymore.
Impossible to want to sleep in a city where no one wakes up.
An obnoxious snort sent Rorschach out of his thoughts. A loud snicker is what brings his eyes to her. He is disgusted and wishes he hadn't laid his eyes on her in the first place. He merely glowers at her and continues to make his rounds; pacing through the festering wound he lived in for a city.
The next time he passed by her, she was still laughing. He gripped onto his "The End is Nigh" sign a little tighter and silently gnawed at the inside of his cheek. She is hunched over sitting on a pile of newspapers giggling at something from across the street. Her hand is placed over her lips and her eyes shut so that wrinkles peaked out from the corners.
He passed her again; still not catching on to what exactly was causing her to giggle childishly. She was playing stupid and attention-seeking; much like a prostitute who sniggers naively and flashes their grey, zombie flesh for all to see.
By the third time he passes her laughing figure, he has observed close to everything. Even after she pulled her hand away and sat up straight, an odd lop sided grin was still formed on her cracked lips. She was ugly, he noticed. Her eyes were too wide; too big to be doe-like, too mud brown to be considered unique or pretty. Her hair was matted, greasy, and messily cut just below her chin; an unnatural shade of faded orange tinted each knotted wave. She was cringe worthy skinny, flat chested, and at first glance could easily be mistaken as a teenage boy. The only hint that gave her away was the gaudy eye make up.He felt no ache or pity at the fact that as she was laughing, the world was really laughing at her.
He was almost certain that she was aware of his glaring. She smoothed out her shirt in her attempt to show off her bust, and tried her very hardest to flatten the edges of her unruly hair. Like a little girl playing dress up, this was an unattractive woman trying to be beautiful, it just looked forced and unnatural.
Racing thoughts flooded into Rorschach's mind as he continued to saunter. He was convinced by now that she was a whore or some sort of street scum. Perhaps she was simply laughing at children's pornography while trying to shape herself up for the next customer who'll create bruises on her thighs with their blood stained hands.
When his thoughts settled, Rorschach came to the conclusion that this pallid lion of a woman with alien eyes and crooked yellow teeth was purely another justification for him to detest this city.
He stopped walking. Her oversized doll eyes met his in a glance.
She smiled; her cheek bones too high, peeling lips too thin, pale skin coated in a layer of sweat. Disgusting. He didn't smile back.
After a moment of their dragged on staring contest, she peered back at what she was previously laughing at. Rorschach followed her gaze. The side of the train station was crowded by people, but just past them in huge green spray painted letters it read:
I Watch The Watchmen.
When he looked back for the animal-like girl, she was laughing again. He felt the anger claw at the inside of his mouth, ready to lash out in wild yells.
But if he hadn't stopped right then, he wouldn't have noticed the single quality that made this creature even mildly human. Much to his perplexity, a single tear rolled down her cheek and in her hand rested green spray paint.
I guess, even animals cry.
