Disclaimer: I am only using these characters for fun with no intention of profiting from these works.

Also, I am looking for an editor...

When you are falling to your death above many burning warehouses, after the road fell apart from the crowded plane you were trying to escape onto, you might be a bit overwhelmed. Death is scary and it only comes once. That often inhibits any form of thought besides pure panic. You're fucked!

However, when death is once again imminent. A rare exception for those who have perished and come back again, there exists the opportunity to philosophize…

Falling isn't that much different than flying. Both are a rush. Only for an instant, you are suspended in the air. A brief bit of buoyance before you start plummeting like a stone back to the earth. If you ever watch a robin fly, it will hop and bounce still in the air, tucking its wings in as it starts to drop. But it catches itself, spreading its wings wide, as it starts to rise you will say that's flying not falling.

I was a little bird known as robin, but that title didn't belong to me. It belonged to a small boy dressed in yellow, red and green like spring. You would hear his chittering and laugh. When you heard you could say that spring had come, and you would be saved. Like the bird, he could catch himself on every streetlight, gargoyle and building to rise again. You would look at him and would say he was flying.

Looking at me now, dressed in a bloody red helmet and wrapped tightly in gear and spite, I was not a robin. I could not fly. I could only hear the screams as hands reached for my plummeting body. I could only see Bruce as my eyes started to dim, I feel a bit guilty for dying again.

I feel my body jolt when darkness fully claims my vision. When you get the rush of flying, the world passes so much faster, a period ominously prolonged. From the moment my vision faded, I felt every lick of the wind against my battered body, and every groan of my bones. My nose and mouth tasted nothing but the copper of blood and bile while my ears heard the roar of the wind so much so that it became silent.

As time-compressed, there was no impact, only silence. Was this what I had felt before when I had died? Fuck, it's boring. No wonder I went crazy when I was revived.

The silence was broken with a sensation of pressure. It was pressure on all sides and in my ears. It felt like the build-up before they popped, and your ears were left ringing and you very annoyed. There was pressure on my chest and lungs. It was the reflexive reaction, that implicit memory that forced me to bring. I sucked in a deep breath. I choked and my eyes flew open to the only burn from the sudden sting of salty water.

I choked out a healthy of water but not everything as my airway remained reflexively closed. I flailed around, seeking the surface. My arms clawing at the idea of up. My legs barely moving against the weight of clothing. My helmet still secured on my face, darkened the surroundings as it wasn't meant to deal with water.

I couldn't take another breath; I couldn't move anymore as the adrenaline faded; I was weak; I was tired; I was dead.

Silence crept on me again. Fuck, FUck FUCk, FUCK! I don't want to die. But wasn't I already dead?

Darkness took my vision and I saw little spotty bits that looked like stars. I was reminded of astronaut training, where they use water to simulate zero-gravity as water can imitate that experience of not knowing which way is up.

With that last thought, I felt a tug on the back of my jacket, and I faded again.

Death in Hell? Can it exist?

Am I destined to continuously struggle at the point of death?

I awoke again with the absence of pressure at my sides. No longer did I feel the sensation blanketing my body. Instead, I felt warmth. It was nice.

Following the warmth can the sound of voices whose murmurs turned into a good conversation.

"…fishmen tax…"

"…saving… red…drowning…"

"…can't afford… must leave…"

The voices grew louder and the conversation clearer as I opened my eyes. I was in what looked like a beach cabin with bright wood panelling and pastel decorations. A windchime of seashells, glass and metal rods tinkled next to an open window across the woof that was streaming in ribbons of light.

I breathed and everything hurt. My lungs ached and wheezed, and my heart was already pounding. I took another controlled breath as I felt the sensation of pain had found itself as my present companion. The voices shifted as one opened the door to walk inside and found me staring.

I placed my hand on my head. Doing so, I realized that I didn't have my mask on my face nor my body armour as I moved to adjust myself. I looked down, a thin blanket was placed on me to give me dignity, but the rest of my body was decorated in bandages.

"Oh, you're awake," came the tone of a well-aged man who came up to my bedside. He pulled out a stethoscope that hung around his neck. With gentle pressure, he eased me to lay back down properly. Meekly I followed suit, unable to muster any energy to resist.

The cold metal was placed on my heart then my lungs as he carefully listened.

"Sounds better than before. I am Dr. Mako," he introduced himself. As my head cleared, I looked at him. He was short with a Hawaiian shirt and a lab coat with a collection of ribbons all frayed and different colours all sewn around the outside. He looked like a quack.

"Jason," I replied weakly. I already cursed myself as my name left my lips, what stupidity on my part. The fake doctor's stupid appearance might have let down my guard a bit.

"Well, Jason. Some of the fishermen in our village found you drowning off our north shore. You were extremely lucky that they were there to rescue you. I have been treating you in the village for the past three days" he explained.

"Do you mind telling me how you ended up in that situation?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly. What made me drown outside a seaside town when I fell above some burning building?

"I hope you remember. Which village are you from so we can send you back?" he asked.

I frowned, "I'm not from a village, I'm from Gotham"

"Oh, is that a nearby island or kingdom. I confess I am not familiar with Gotham"

"Gotham is not an island or a kingdom it's a city in New Jersey, USA," I explained. Gotham is one of many cities, but it is pretty well-known. These people are speaking English so they should know about the US and the state of New Jersey.

I hold back my shock as the man says "I am not familiar with New Jersey you-ess-aye"

"I will let you get some more rest you seem a bit confused" he replies and leaves the room. With that bit of gaslighting, I clench my teeth to prevent reacting poorly. I rolled my eyes at the quack doctor and settled back into a comfortable position on the bed.

I look around the room and notice all the touristy hand-made crafts that line the room. They are pretty well-made from the table to the shelves. Even the chairs are quaint in their way despite the little mismatch of sizes and imperfections that seasoned wood makers wouldn't make. I guess the owners were more interested in authenticity than a consistent product.

I felt my self-drifting off with the warmth of the sunshine creeping over my face.