It was a dark and starless night in Gotham city, and while most people were asleep I wasn't. I was on Arkham Bridge looking down over the railing. As I stared down at the ground I couldn't help but think about my life, how I was always compared to my older sister, how the kids at my high school would bully me constantly, how the one person I thought was my friend ended up being like everyone else.
Tears ran down my cheek as I thought about what had happened not too long ago as my hand gripped tightened on the railing of the bridge. No one would miss me or even care if I just jumped, was the only thing that ran through my head as I went and made my way to the other side of the railing.
The wind blew my hair back as I stared down at the ground. I could see small fires from the homeless people that lived down there, and I giggled some through my tears at the thought of them freaking out about my body suddenly falling and disturbing there night.
I gave a small sad smile as I closed my eyes, and was about to jump, but before I could let go of the railing someone chuckled and spoke. At the sound of the voice my eyes shot open, and looked behind me to see a gingered hair man holding a bloody axe.
"Now what would someone who's about to die be laughing about?"
What the gingered hair man had asked took me by surprise, and left me lost for words. So there I stood, inches away from my death staring at a guy holding a bloody axe in disbelief. My silence seemed to amuse him though cause not long into it he began chuckling again, and coming closer.
"Cat got your tongue or something gorgeous?"
The moment he had called me gorgeous I could feel my face heating up some. I'd never been called pretty let alone gorgeous before, my older sister was always the one to get called those things. So honestly even if this man was a serial killer or something being called gorgeous by someone at all was shocking.
"You... you think I'm gorgeous?"
I asked him without even thinking. This made the man burst out laughing after he stopped walking towards me, and I frowned. Of course he'd be joking, I thought sadly.
"I don't lie, doll. Sure your haircut is weird, but that's an easy fix."
My eyes wide, and I felt my jaw go slack a little as I felt my heart skip a beat while looking at the now grinning man. To him the only problem was the ugly uneven cut I had been given unwillingly not that long ago by my backstabbing friend.
"Well now since I answered your question doll, how about answering mine? "
He asked with an amused smirk. It took me a second too figured out when he had asked a question, but when I remembered my face heated up again.
"I.. I was thinking about how the homeless people that live under the bridge would freak out at my dead body falling to the ground and disturbing their night."
I bit my lip a little after answering, and hoped that he didn't think I was weird or something. He obviously murdered someone, so why would he think a suicidal girl laughing about people freaking out about her dead body right before jumping-off a bridge would be weird? A small voice in my mind told me , and before I could even think about what the voice said, the gingered haired boy laughed breaking me out of my thoughts.
"You know I like people with a good sense of humor, and honestly it'd be a waste for me to just leave you here to die. How about you come over on my side of the railing, I get rid of this little toy here, and me and you can talk about a few things?"
My eyes widened, and my heart pounded fast. This strange man with a bloody axe wanted me to come back over the railing. To be honest he was the first person to ever say anything like this to me. Normally people would tell me to die or too that I was weird for laughing at dark things, but he didn't call me weird, and he didn't tell me to die.
I could feel my eyes watering as I made my way back over to the safe side of the railing, and when I did I could help but smile at him as I stood in front of him. To me this man was like an Angel, a beautiful bloody Angel, and only one thing ran in my mind as I stared at him. I don't want to be forgotten by him.