I can barely hold the book up in my shaking hand.
I am not really reading it.
I am never. ... ...really reading it.
All I do is shuffle, wander, shuffle, wander... ...
Alone in these labyrinthal halls of the Tower.
I cannot stay still.
I cannot sleep.
I must keep moving.
I must.. ...
Keep thinking.. ...
Keep 'flexing'... ...
I wander I wander I wander... ...and I find myself accosted by a space to the right of me.
I pause, I glance over..
I see that the door to Robin's workroom is wide open.
A single, pale light shines from within.
It suddenly occurs to me that it is one o'clock in the restless, bleakly dark morning.
And only those with no predeliction towards sane existence can be allowed wakefulness.
So I shuffle about, peer my head in, and see--
--Robin. Sitting at a stool. His upper body sprawled out before a workbench scattered and splattered and be-spangled with Slade, Slade, Slade, Slade.
Newspaper articles on Slade.
Alleged photographs on Slade.
Evidence and remnants and residue of Slade.
And amidst it all--in a pile of his own obsessive searchings--Robin lies exhausted. Sleeping. The Boy Wonder devoid of any thought left to stress about--if but for a moment.
'Who is Slade?'
'Can the Titans stop him?'
'True Test of Robin's Leadership, Experts Say'.
I walk over and stand behind his silently sleeping figure.
The utter tranquility that devours him.
The absence of anxiety for a dark circulation alone...
Am I the only one who sees Robin so frequently out of order?
I take a deep breath. I hide my own shudderings as I remover my blue cloak and gently, nurturingly drape it over him.
He stirs ever so slightly. A mindless mumbling escapes his lips, and he's still as stone again.
I take a deep breath. I turn around. I walk out of the room.
... ...But as soon as I open the book in futility again--I stop.
And I freeze.
And I find that I have nowhere else to go.
And all of this labyrinthal insanity is collapsing on top of me with the weight of infinite worlds.
And nobody can hear me.
And nobody can understand me.
I am ever so truly alone.
Here.
Then.
There.
Now.
"I don't know what to do, Robin.. ... ..."
He sleeps.
Bathed in the blue.
Impervious... . ...
"I am.. ... ...I am that which is not.. ... ..and that which denies what the rest of the world is.. ... .."
The dim light waxes on.
The glinting masks of Slade, fading from the apathy of eyelids.
This shivering girl clinging to herself.
Her back to the masked eyes that can never see her.
"... ... ...I cannot t-tell what is past.. ...wh-what is present.. .. ...wh-what is future.. ... ..."
A shaking voice... ...
...for a shaking frame.
"All I-I know is imminent. All I am is imminent. The eternal.. ...the temporal.. .. ...it all begins and end with me.. .. ..."
I only realize halfway into it that my eyes are shut.
That my pale skin is twice as pale.
That there is no need to imagine the tears fighting to come out from my optics--
For blindness may not be a truth, but it's relatively fundamental to all the necessities of peace.
"... ... ..me.. ...th-this curse... ...this poisoned capsule for Mother Earth. I am the beginning and the end for the Titans, Robin. And for t his world... ... ...there is nothing I-I can do.. ... ...and yet, I feel I must do something.. .. ... b-but what is left for me in an oblivion that never obliterates itself? What absurd reality goes beyond non-reality?"
Robin sleeps.
The world sleeps.
Like stone before it is carved into an ornament for a grave.
"All th-that's left.. ...," I think aloud. I mourn aloud. I weep aloud. But all in this perpetualmonotonousdroning. ".. ...all th-that I am.. ... ... ...Th-The things that I see... . ... ...the things that I hear.. ... ... ...that is all I have to have.. ... ...and all I have to give... ... ..."
I turn around, but I don't look at Robin, but I do look at Robin.
I collapse.
"Wh-What do I do with all of these things, Robin? Who do I give them to if not myself? I see all that there is to see, I hear all that there is to hear, and I know all that there is to know--That everything I ever rob myself of loving shall burn to ashes regardless of what I want or do and I will be left to walk the plane of annihilation--What, What, What, Robin? What do I do with all of this imminence? What.. ... ...Wh-What do I do with me?"
Robin doesn't respond.
He fails to exist.
I lean back against the wall.
And--in silence, in solitude--I am my perfect self.
And my perfect self slides down to the floor until she hugs her knees to her chest. Ignores the book completely. Ignores the sights and the sounds and the breath within.
"What do I do.. ...?"
Shuddering.
"What do I do.. ...?"
Trembling.
What do I do... ...?
What do I do.. ...?
What do I do .. ...?
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