I lay on the bed. I stared at the ceiling. I listen to Heart Monitor as it beep, beep, beeps it's (my) life out. The restraints hold me in place. The candy feels stale in my mouth. I never want another piece of chocolate in my life.( I never even got a full bag of Halloween candy. Guess this makes up for it.) I ramble on in on in my head because I've given up talking.
What else is new?
The pitter patter of rain against my invisible window cill. The lack of so many of my new friends. The stampede of footsteps that pound towards my door. Am I being attacked?
Oh, yes. Yes please. Put me out of my chocolate-induced, white, immobile misery.
The door swings open with a bang. I stare straight up. A shadow passes the room, no bigger than a ten year old. Jason, Jason. Mystery man found out. Jason, Jason. Were those your cries and screams I heard last Halloween? I'm sorry, sorry for doing that to you. I told you you shouldn't have come; I hope I never gave you any nightmares, I still have them of my parents
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down, down, down all the way down until I could hear those fragile bones just CRACK and blood spill out. I hadn't even known that humans had that blood, did you Blood Bags? And the smell of the carnival, the music still blasting through the audience's gasp of horror (oh, but I thought we were in Gotham and that stuff happens all the time) and the smell of acid that hit me then, surronds me now and forever. I breath it as long as I remember. I want to forget; I want to always want to remember. Morals, morals, manners, manners, didn't your parents teach you better?
Beep beep. Thank you, Heart Monitor. I can always count on you to bring me out of my ramblings.
"Dick, Dick!"cries Jason. His voice is so full of life, I ache. I've missed him. All that time with Fake Jason never made up for this moment. "...Are you awake?"
He's so close. I hear tiny clip-clops of tiny feet after him. A shadow joins his. Tim. I make a nonverbal sound of..well, it just sounds like 'hm'.
"He's awake."Tim's small voice informs. The wind howls and the rain slashes at the invisible window, nearly masking his tiny voice. A tiny voice for a tiny child. The rain sounds like rocks, bombarding my haven and prison. Or is it hail instead of rain? I cannot tell.
"Dick! Dick! You're gonna be OK, because the doctors and stuff said that you can come back home!" Jason says.
I stare at the ceiling. Yeah, there's definitely a crack there. Silence. Are the waiting for a reaction from me? Me? I smile the best I can. It feels like molding silly putty. That is sufficient.
"I'll go get the wheelchair! C'mon, Tim." Jason says, and two pair of footsteps make their way up, quick in their excitement. Did they miss me that much? Aw, I'm warmed. But haven"t they visited before? As in, when I'm unconscious/sleeping or something. Or have they been kept away by Bruce in a fit overprotectiveness?
I'm guessing the latter.
Home is full of memories, some good, some bad. (the storm became worse, an army of hailstones- no doubt now- smashing against the roof in an angry attack) But most of them involve my legs; swinging from the chandelier. Tearing through the house in a game of tag with my brothers. Flying via gymnastics equipment. Running, running. Sliding down the banister (much to the disapproval of Alfred). So many things.
I don't think I could stand all those memories, knowing I'll never have the chance to do any of those things again.
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It's sometime later(I lost track of the heartbeats sometime after 1004) did Jason and Tim come back. A nurse I haven't seen before came with them, and so did Bruce. I turned my head a bit so I could look at them.
It's been such a long time since I've seen those faces. Bruce had shadowed, dark bags under his eyes and his eyes had a wild look to them. He's probably been staying up each and every night since Halloween, when the whole thing looked excited, no matter how much he tried to hide it, but a shadow of guilt dampened his features. I felt my heart twist. Tim, though, was just pure excited. He was practically bouncing.
He probably thought I'd recover within next week. How long had I been here, anyway?
The nurse's lips were pressed together disapprovingly. I was right;I am not considered ready to leave. But she wheeled the wheelchair right on up, and she and Bruce lifted me on to it.
Next thing I knew, the bed that had been my home for so long was gone and I was being wheeled out. Roll, roll, roll. Rolling Stones. That was my dad's favorite band.
The sunlight hurt my eyes so I closed them. Simple logic. But it was too late. I had already caught a glimpse of the blue sky;blue, blue, blue. A color I wanted so. So different from white, it was warm and comforting. Not at all like the white, or the sun for that matter.
It was hot out(wouldn't it have been November by now? Or was it December already?) and I hadn't been expecting that. It's usually grey in Gotham. (GG, heh) A blue sky is a special treat. But the sun isn't. I swear, most of the residents could be vampires for the amount we see the sun. Hot, hot, hot. Hot like the burning fire last time Bruce had tried to cook. Hot like Bialya, with the heat cracking my skin and my lips, I hadn't thought that your mouth could scratch for water like that. Hot, burning up. It's like I was melting, fire burning everywhere, smoke choking me. I couldn't see; all I could see was grey. Grey was all I ever saw.
And so I opened my eyes. The brightness really needed to be dialed down, but I could see. A warm, open blue sky. It was like a hug(he had nearly forgotten what those were like). A green bush here and there, and a red sign! Le gasp, he had nearly forgotten those colors existed! Though, honestly, he forgotten what the world outside his little hospital room had looked like. And, oh look! There, shimmering in the heat next to the sidewalk! Was that black?
And so it was. The polar opposite of white, and such a welcome sight. The screech of a car as his neck just snapped back; like his parents death. They had put a black pin on that map, dreaded color, black pin of death. Exactly what happened. And now his blood was mixing with the asphalt, into an ugly color. It was dark out; dark enough so the driver couldn't see him. The snap,of dark chocolate, a thousand times over until he felt sick(so much like their bones). The shadows that surrounded his every move. His bare feet slapping against the asphalt, tears threatening to spill, as the townies called him names he would come so familiar with over the course of the next 4 years. And, course of impact, his neck had snapped back-snap snAp-and he had seen the inky black starless night, not even a moon to light their path. And he had screamed, yes, and so had Jason. They all had(though the others may deny it; he heard them, their panic, he was there). Or maybe not.
I closed my eyes again, and peeled my fingers off the armrests. The inky black vision was cuts by colorful lines and squiggles, dancing across my line of sight. It was like Ratatoulie.*
I feel strong hands lift me from my permanent seat, carrying me bridal style into the car. In usual circumanstances, I would've protested. Struggled. But these are not your usual circumstances.
So I keep my eyes closed and let myself be manhandled into the lush, luxury car. I don't know what type, nor do I especially care right now. I keep them closed while Tim's high pitched, youthful voice squeaks on and Jason's street tones join in the flurry. Even Bruce tries to keep the conversation going. I file it away for my usual wittiness and analyzation for later. Alfred's accent speaks of home, where so many people of so many backgrounds form to one big family, and I cannot help the huge, fat tears that slide down my wide open face.
Either nobody notices, or nobody cares, because nobody comments on them.
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So, upon returning what has come to be my 'home', there'll be lots of partying and stuff, right? Fun things to do, all the time every time. They'd all be so happy to see me.
Not.
The act lasts only a few days before they all leave me again. I'm all alone again, living my once worst fear. I'm used to it now, though. If I could reach a rock or something, I'd be pinging it off the walls. Ping, ping, ping. I could never stay still for very long. Let's go for a new record, shall we?
I can't help but miss Heart Monitor and that depressing, white room. There, I could wallow and sulk there and it'd be appropriate. Now, here, here is the place I'd always be welcomed, happy, with family. What a sick, ironic joke this is. It's bright and sunny, at least that's what it looks like through my window, and it's a little bit harder to sulk with that kind of light(which is what Bruce has a special, dark, gloomy, drippy cave downstairs for). At least, at the hospital, there was never any quiet. Here, it's always quiet. At first, I had taken the quiet as a challenge, to banish it from the house. But, I turned my back a day too long, and it filled every crack and corner of this giant house, even with three more kids living here. I'm back at the begining after four years of hard work. But, now, I say-why bother? It'll just be back when I go away again. And I don't want to be the one who spends his life keeping the evil at bay in it's never ending battle.
Call me selfish, call me lazy, but that won't change my mind. I just kind of want to lay here. Once in a while, i feel an urge to get up, do something. It's easy to push down, though, because I know I can't. The ghosts dance through the room, swinging from the ghostly bars, laughing. They run and dance and play all day long, asking me to join in. I hate them.
In the hospital, I used to dream of Alfred's food. It was so much better. But, now, I can't bring myself to take a bite of it. Like, right now, a plate of spahgetti sits on my desk, it's steam curling in the sunlight. It looks good, smells good, and made especially for me. I can't bring myself to take a bite, and can't bring myself to tell Alfred that, either. Next to it, sit three brightly colored pills. For three dark problems.I'm supposed to take them after every meal(too bad I don't have any). I have more than three problems, though, and these pills are for my problems.
Oh, doctor, doctor! I have another problem, stick it with a prescription and stuff it in the bottle! Screw it on tight, and have it after every meal. My feelings are all bottled up, I just want to open the lid, but only on Thursdays and Fridays stamped with the doctor's seal.
That's a telltale sign I'm bored, on pain-meds and in pain that contradicts the pain-meds.
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Lately, I've taken to just lying on my bed(what else is new?) and closing my eyes. I'm not really asleep, but I just don't want to stare at the ceiling anymore. Yeah, yeah, once upon a time I would've just moved. Once upon a time, I had the use of my legs. When I close my eyes, it's my non-colored safe haven, just lying there in some warm place and numb. As long as Memories don't invade my perfect world, I'll be fine. Sometimes I hear things from the outside world, but I'm careful to steer away from that. And sometimes I just like to listen. I'm their favorite subject, it seems.
"Is he not getting any better, Master Bruce?" The crisp, accented voice of Alfred asked. Somewhere far off I wonder how long it's been since I said a word, and wonder why I used to talk so much. Make so many jokes,laugh, smile even. Seems pretty pointless now.
Bruce sighed, somewhere to my...well, somewhere outside my perfect world. Possibly to my left. "It doesn't look like it. In fact, it seems as though he's getting worse." That's a matter of opinion. If anything, I'd almost say living inside my head is better than living out there. "I really though bringing him home was a good idea..."
"We mustn't get discouraged, Master Bruce. After all, an energetic, acrobatic young boy like him must take the loss of his legs very hard." Alfred said. You have no idea.
Bruce said nothing, and I knew that meant that he was brewing a very big idea that Alfred would most defineitly disapprove of. This was the case of the Noodle Incident, and other times so much like it... Somehow we all survived.
Well, almost.
"I'm going out, Alfred." Bruce said, and I heard the scraping of the chair as he stood to leave. So it's night out then. Hey, come to think of it, Jason hasn't had any nightmares or, at least, none I've heard of. So it looks like he wasn't upset as I though he was, and just doesn't care as much either. Is it bad to wish he was just a little upset about that whole experience afterwards?
"Try not to hurt yourself too much, Master Bruce." Alfred says, and there might've been more afterwards that I didn't hear. But, hey, perfect world was calling.
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We now interrupt your regularly scheduled show of Me Just Lying there with a knock at the door. Dick stands up, opening the door and peeking out. Little Timmy and Jaybird stand there, both grinning like loons, with Dami on the older's back. Dick smiles with them, and opens the door just a little bit wider.
He's missed these guys.
More action will come soon, I promise.
Asterix=One, I cannot spell that. Secondly, you know the scene in the start of the movie where he's tasting the food and the color things/shapes/color that tell the taste. That.
Hope you enjoyed.