Just something I thought about in class today... y'all know how boring proofs and theorems can get. I mean- whoa, wait a minute, I'm ramblin'. Back to the matter at hand, here's Near Death.

P.S. Not the best I've done so bear with me.

Near Death

"On his boots, there's a stain.

On his shirt, is a name.

On his soul, there's a pain.

On his life, there's a game.

On his sleeve is a thought.

On his eyes, there's a fear.

On his back is a clock, and his time is near."

-Yelawolf, "Run Johnny"

SMACK!

Richard Grayson fell to the ground after an explosive punch impacted his cheek. He struggled to get to his feet, to grab the ropes of the boxing ring so he could haul himself up. But an earth-shattering pressure was applied to his back by his opponents foot, and he found himself fixed to the floor, out of breath and immobile. The numbers that would follow were inevitable.

3...

Three. The third number. The number of times he's prevailed in this hell hole of an arena. The number of punches it took for him to take everyone who's faced him down. The number of punches it took to put him in this position.

2...

Two. The number two. The number of teeth he has lost since the fights began. The number of gaslight lamps hanging in the wide arena, letting an ominous soft dusk fall over the room. The number of slim windows in the Victorian-era buildings that weren't barred, that allowed the twilight to filter through the glassless niche.

1...

The number one. The first and foremost, yet now the last. What he was, what he is, and what he will be. The most powerful. The pureborn leader.

The best.

And he'd be damned if he ever let that go.

Richard twisted free of the foot holding him to the ring floor and leaped to his feet. Blood spattered on his face as he elbowed his executioner in the heart. Following up with a series of swift but powerful kicks, he grounded his opponent, who proceeded to dissolve into the mat, much to Richard's surprise. In his place was an old, spindly man clad in a black pinstripe suit.

Richard stepped back involuntarily. He wasn't normally nervous, so something had to be- no, wait, was, off about him.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man was in front of him in less than a second, and he placed a finger on his forehead. One word changed everything in his eyes. "Death."

Richard awoke with a sharp gasp and sat up. He was in a hospital, attached to many wires and an IV drip. Raven and Beast Boy were on his right and left, repectively, sleeping in their chairs. Raven's head leaned heavily on his shoulder.

He moved carefully so as to not wake her, but in the process heard the rustling of paper. Setting Raven's head down on the bed, he reached for the source of the noise, an envelope on his sheet. It was pitch-black, seemingly absorbing the light coming from overhead, and on its front was a white Gothic D in large font. He knew exactly who it was from.

Robin opened it slowly, and smirked slightly at what was on the paper inside.

'Congratulations, Richard Grayson,' it said. 'You have reaquired your old life. How you cause more trouble dead than alive, I will never know, but please, for both your sake and mine, don't die again.'

Richard laughed slightly, in turn waking Raven up. She lifted her head groggily, turning to face him. She smiled, and at that moment, his life began again.