Stage Four: Depression

My life sucks. It sucks it sucks it sucks it fucking sucks. I should jump off the roof. Knowing my luck, I'd probably land on a trampoline of something.

The sun is shining, though, rays of yellow and orange casting light on the dreary manor. I look at the outline of my shadow, cocking my head from side to side, leaning in and out. I hate the sun.

I used to like the sun. Being cooped up in a circus tent all day and all night made me appreciate the slightest bit of sunshine I could get. I snuck out, early in the morning. Before we woke up for training, just as the sun came up. I'd just sit there and watch it turn all it's different colors. Everything would slowly get brighter and brighter, the trees, the ground, the trailers. The animals would stir as the sky became orange, growling and hissing, waking far sooner then their owners. The lions would automatically get to their feet, rhythmically prowling their crate, searching for some kind of prey, I guess. I liked to pretend that the lions were actually solar powered robots, and when the sun touched their fur or skin or whatever, the batteries would reboot. I don't know. I was a pretty stupid kid.

Now, there aren't any animals. Now, the sun has lost it's spark, and I hate it.

I should jump off the roof.

What's the point of doing all this shit? Everyone's going to end up like they did, being scraped off the floor like burnt pancakes.

Bruce tried to talk to me last night. He obviously had never interacted with anyone under thirty-five before, by my observations. Usually strait forward and commanding, he starts fucking stuttering and telling me he 'get's what I'm going through' and all that crap. I said all that was expected, 'uh-huh' and 'sure, yeah', until he left, I'm sure feeling very pleased with himself.

I dug my forehead into my arms, a small, meaningless attempt at hiding from the goddamn sun. God, I hate the sun.

Tears well at my eyes, and try to blink them away. They're persistent, though, and they trail down my cheeks like acid, bitter on my lips. I wipe them away impatiently, and they stop, back to their little hole in wherever they came from like good little tears, and I expect not to see them again.

I see Alfred at the corner of my eye, standing at the door like a statue. He doesn't move, and he doesn't say anything. He just watches, me or the sunrise, I don't know.

I try to torture myself, forcing my pupils into it until it burns. Maybe I'll go blind, and never have to look at it again. If I should be so lucky.

I look away, silently admitting defeat to the thing.

I should jump off the roof. I'll go the same way they did, and this whole thing will be over. I'll be out of this goddamn house, I'll be out of this goddamn city, and I'll be happy for the first time in forever.

I can't, though, because I've been trained since I was three to always catch yourself. If I jumped off a roof, I would automatically grab for the nearest branch. Plus I'm a wuss. It'd never work.

But still, I can hope.

Author's Note: Let me make this clear: this has no point. At all. It's not supposed to be good or even remotely okay-ish. If it is, it is purely my mistake.