What a sick, son of a bitch!After I have time to let everything process in my mind I begin to squirm in the restraints on my arms and legs.Someone, please help me...
"Moving around won't make you feel any better or get you out of here any faster." He said pacing around the cold iron table.
"What do you want me for? I'm 'nobody', I steal from convenient stores for fun! How lame?! Why would you want me?" I sighed with frustration. Really who am I kidding, I mean nothing, I'm a complete joke. I tried to pull my small and long hands out of the wrist restrains so that I could get ahold of him. All of my attempts had failed. If I struggle any more the leather straps will tear away my skin.
"But see," The Riddler pondered, "that's what makes you different from all the others. You keep it simple, even though you're capable of so much more. Your talent has so much potential, it almost sickens me!" He spits in my face, I still wasn't sure what he wanted me for except to keep me as his play toy, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was helpless, violated, and exposed. So, I did the only thing I could think to do… Scream… I didn't think anyone would hear it but it would distract him for a moment so I could think of what to do. No one would come to save me, it was obvious that no one cared about me, not even Batman and his boy wonder. Why should they care about a petty thief like me? I'm a criminal and they'd have no reason to save me from my imminent death. Following my piercing screams, he shrunk back. Years of living in Gotham has taught me that being a girl opens you up to insane harassment. So, it's time to learn how to tough it out.
I'm not afraid to die. I never was and never will be, so whatever he has planned for me, let it be.
After I held myself back from screaming profusely, he pulled a knife out of his pocket and put it up to my throat. "Let's skip the introductions, and the riddles, I'm going to make sure you suffer very nicely." The raggedy smile he gave me confused me even more than before. No jokes? No foreplay? No cheesy introductions? This wasn't like the normal (as normal as you could be) Riddler.
As I began to ponder the real enigma before me, I hear footsteps outside the large metal, safe-like, door that I'd failed to notice before. The footsteps got louder and louder until the door swung open. Just before the dust from the neglected door settled, The Riddler put the chloroform soaked rag over my face again and I passed out.
My dreams engulf me and I'm falling down towards a bottomless pit. Nothing is under me to catch ahold of, the only thing that will save me is my imagination. I blink again and I see myself standing up in a warmly lit room. There is a large desk and a man at said desk. He is diligently working, and doesn't look away from his papers. I look around for a clock and I see it's 7:29 pm.
Behind me I hear a knock at the door so I move out of the way. The man looks up, but he doesn't see me. He says, "Come in." It's only audible enough to hear right outside the door. A little girl walks in wearing a pink night gown and she looks familiar. All of this looks oddly familiar.
"Daddy, I can't sleep." She squeaks.
"I can't do anything about that sweetie, now go away…" He went back to doing his work. Then, it finally hit me, that little girl is me. I remember now, my father never paid any attention to me. My mother was never around and my father was always working so I never really had a childhood. I didn't have any supervision either. That's why it was so easy. It was like taking candy from a baby. The blood all over the floor gave me the emotion of exhilaration, which I had never previously experienced. When I was holding the knife in my hand and I'd realized what I had done I felt no resentment, no sadness, those crazy fuckers left me alone when I had truly needed them. So now they get what they deserve, each other, and definitely not heaven.
I hardly ever remember that night but when I do it creates that same feeling in my gut. The feeling that keeps me utterly addicted to the texture of blood and holding peoples last bit of life source in my hands. It's a feeling that I can't explain, because I've never experienced it in any other situation. It's so rare, so hard to hold on to, it's gone quicker than it materializes. Therefore, I savor every second of it. Maybe this is why people think I'm crazy…