I sat there, I watched it, carefully.
It didn't move, it didn't breathe.
But did it feel?
Did it have memories?
Did it wonder about why it exists, did it think on its past or future.
The cabin was quiet, a silent wind whistled through a crack in a window. The wind rustle the tools which chimed for attention. I pulled my legs closer to my chest, the small fire didn't offer much warmth. I waited, staring at the black whip. It sat coiled on the wall. Dusty. Forgotten.
Who was its owner?
What was it used for?
"It's a whip," I told myself, "No good use can come from it."
I could see the crack that allowed the wind to enter in. A part of me wanted to move to shut it. Another part was yelling at me to stay completely still. The whip watched me. Just as I watched it. A battle of unseen wills.
Who moves first?
Who threatens first.
Would a slow movement be seen as a threat or a weakness? What of a fast movement? The rain started pattering on the roof. I had to do something about the window. I analysed the whip, I wish I paid more attention in school and maths. Knowing its reach might have helped me. Safety in distance.
I slid off my chair, my bare feet padded on the ground. I moved on the balls of my feet watching the whip moving behind the chair I was sitting on. I carefully tested each board for sound or broken timber. Each step strained my muscles, my eyes darted between the floor boards and the whip. My pulse was racing, I felt the sweat on my brow and a lump in my chest. I reached the window, the wind picked up and rain was starting to pour through the gap. I steadied myself and pushed down of the window. It wouldn't budge. Swollen shut from the weather. Rain was drenching me, my jeans were sticking to my thighs. I tried to use a little more power and felt it move, just a little. Again I employed more force and the window shut with a loud bang!
I whirled round, inspecting each and every shadow, my eyes falling on the whip. A cold wind brushed my cheek. Eyes darting. Inspecting. Nothing. No more open windows. Something else was here with me, and I think I just woke it up. I gulped and clenched my fists. Then released them and let out a breath.
I felt a pulse, like a heartbeat, steady.
Lub dub.
Lub dub.
I scanned the dark room for the source. The whip still sat idly on its stand. But it was the source of the pulsing. Did it have a heartbeat? Or perhaps a spirit?
I took a step towards it. The pulsing resounded in me. It reverberated through my chest. I felt my lungs murmur with each wave. Each step made the pulsing became louder but the timing remained constant.
I reached it and slowly stretched out my hand, half waiting for it to move first. My fingers touched the black leather.
Memories flooded into me.
An unlikely start. The owner was unknown to it. It just had its own memories. Once held in leather bound hands for the pleasures of men. The word "dominatrix" surfaced.
But this changed with an escape, a cat, a theft, a friendship. An unlikely partner. An even more unlikely love between a cat and a bat. The storm had passed and now it was time to go home. I gave the whip one last look and returned Gotham city.