April 13, 2010.
Gotham city. The place where day is dark and night is even darker. Where night seems more friendly than any other time, but only because you're unaware to the filth for a few hours. Assuming you can sleep. Gotham city is a cesspool. One that lives and thrives, winding its way through its inhabitants until there's nothing left of them but empty husks. Yeah, Gotham's just a few steps from hell, though some I know would label it hell itself. Label it whatever; Hell; Trickster; Liar; Thief. Gotham's all that and more. It's also my home.
I've lived here ever since my dad got transferred. He's on the police force. Or was. He didn't he even make it two weeks before someone knifed him in the back. Didn't even get a real funeral. A grave was dug, and he was laid in it. No casket, no ceremony, no shit. And guess who was the only one there? That's right, me. No one else would step foot in Gotham for even as much as a minute, but they all sent their cards and flowers. None of it was any use to me. I needed someone to care. I wished that someone had known my dad like I did, and missed him as badly. Two days later, I got my wish.
My mom committed suicide. Hung herself by a bedsheet out the window. A note was taped to the pillow with the words I'm so sorry on it. So she had missed him. And now I missed her. Yeah, she was rotten. You know how almost every story paints the guy as the one who drinks, swears, and beats on his kids? Well, that was my mom. She never beat on dad, though. I was a mistake, never supposed to have been born. But I was, straight out of high school, while she wanted to go to college. Trust me, she made have been upset, but her parents were more upset. She wanted an abortion, but they made her go through with it. After that, Dad took care of me.
I reported the suicide. The cops just looked at me and laughed. What the one cop said chilled me to the bone: "Who cares if your momma bitch killed herself? Happens every day, kid. Get used to it" What's even worse was that he was right.
The cemeteries here are full, but that doesn't stop people from going in. Those that can are exported. Back to 'city of origin' or whatever. There's death on every street. Its amazing people don't go insane here. I almost did.
Both parents dying within days of each other put me into a tailspin. I fell into a deep depression and almost committed suicide myself. Probably the only valid cop in this hellhole saved me from a run-in with a gang. Once he found out I was heading there on purpose, he sat me down and made me tell him my story. An hour later, he handed me twenty bucks and told me to get out of Gotham. That I didn't deserve the shit that happens here. He told me I deserved a good life, and to move to someplace like Metropolis. So I did.
I don't know exactly what it is about this city, but I guess… I guess it kind of grabbed me. Maybe that's why people still live there. I came back once, just to visit, I told myself. I actually ended up renting an apartment. I would almost swear that the city gets inside your brain, twisting its way around so it can manipulate you back. There's plenty of evidence to that theory. I mean, plenty of 'normal' people with 'normal' minds go bat-crazy after a week in here. Scientifically, that shouldn't happen, but it does. Of course, if I ever mentioned my theory to a real scientist, I'd probably get labeled as crazy myself.
