1.
I am a murderer.
Last night flashed through my eyes for the rest of the night. I couldn't get any sleep. I was haunted with the thought of what I had done. Instead of seeing my parents' faces, I saw the face of the guy who had murdered them, blood gushing down his face, those cold eyes of death staring at me in pain and judgement. I hate the eyes of death.
This man killed my parents. He had the green robe. He had the mask. The evidence was there. So why do I feel so damn guilty over killing him? Why does it keep me awake at night, why does it haunt me so? Why can't I get some DAMN peace of mind for once?
Ever since my parents died, I've been suffering, haunted by their deaths. I thought that they needed me to seek vengeance upon their murderer. I thought that once I had killed their murderer I would be at peace. Well, I killed the man responsible, and yet I am not at peace. When my parents died, I thought they wouldn't rest until their murderer was stopped from causing any more deaths. But maybe they wouldn't have wanted me to be the man wielding the axe. Maybe... maybe the thing they would've wanted the most would've been for me to be happy.
I'm sorry, mum. I'm sorry, dad. I failed you.
Morning came. Bags were under my eyes from sleeplessness. How do bats stand it, being awake in the night and asleep at morning? I could never do that.
"Woah, Bruce," said Borris, "You look like a wreck! Did you get any sleep tonight?"
"Good morning to you too," I mumbled, pouring myself some Rich-Man-Woman-Or-Other Cereal.
It costs $1000 per packet.
I crunched on the cereal. I still didn't feel fully awake yet. My eyes kept dropping down, and it took all my effort to keep them open.
"You didn't get any sleep last night, did you?" said Borris.
"No," I admitted, "I didn't."
"Your parents' deaths still haunting you?"
"No. Something else."
"Ah," said Borris, "I see."
I swallowed my cereal.
"I wonder what's on TV," I said.
"... another horrifying murder in Gotham," said the news reporter.
"Oh, Jesus," I groaned.
"Come on," said Borris, "Let's switch the channel."
"No, no," I said, "I want to watch this."
"Grandfather of three children, and father of two adults, Mr Jeremy Fox was found brutally murdered last night," said the news reporter, "He was shot by what appears to be either a Freebullet or a Dognapper in the face. These guns have bullets that are highly damaging, making the scene of Mr Fox's death truly horrifying. He was found lying on the floor, next to his bed."
I groaned.
"Come on, Bruce. Switch the channel."
"This weapon is similar to the weapon used by the recent murderer of orphaned billionaire Bruce Wayne's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne," continued the reporter, "Leading the police to think that these two murders were caused by the same murderer. This seems to be further evidenced by the finding of a green robe and a mask with a dove above a tree on it, the same clothes seen worn by the Wayne murderer. Police believe he may have left his clothes at the scene of the crime to cause suspicion upon the victim, freeing the actual murderer from being in the eyes of the police, and making it seem like justice was committed with the murder of Mr Fox. Well, we see right through his plan."
"See, Master Wayne?" said Alfred, who had come in while we had been watching the news report, "You're out of suspicion. This is very good news!"
I nodded silently.
"Mr Fox was murdered at around one o'clock in the morning last night, as revealed from inspection of the body. Neighbours say they heard shouting, some naughty words, and then a gunshot. They say that they then went to sleep after it was all over. There is no camera footage available of the criminal, as Mr Fox's camera was shut down at around one o'clock, most likely by the murderer."
"Good job, Alfred!" said Borris.
"Thank you, Master Wayne."
"We now go to some interviews with some of Mr Fox's neighbours. Onto you, Jemimah."
"Thank you, Mildred. I am here at the scene of the crime with Ms Georgina FkFillet. Ms FkFillet, what do you think of these shocking events?"
"Absolutely horrifying! I was among Mr Fox's best friends, you know," said Ms FkFillet. She started to cry, "I just don't know what I'm going to do without him. May his soul rest up there with Allah."
"Could you give us a description of Mr Fox's character?"
"Oh, he was such a sweet man! Truly a gentleman beyond a doubt. Why would anyone want to murder him? Who would do such a horrible thing? Ms Reporter, I think that such people are beyond the grace of Allah. What drives a person to commit such a repulsive act, to murder a kind old man like Mr Fox, is completely beyond me. I don't know what I'd do if I ever saw Mr Fox's murderer!"
There was pain in my eyes, and it wasn't from tiredness.
"Bruce," whispered Borris, seeing my face, "I think that's enough now."
"If I may add, Master Wayne," said Alfred, "That woman doesn't know who this Mr Fox truly was."
"I know, I know," I whispered, still watching the screen.
"I remember," sniffed Ms FkFillet, "that I would visit good old Mr Fox every now and then, for a cup of orange juice. He'd tell me the funniest stories, about his grandchildren, about his young life, and we would just laugh and laugh. That was usually the highlight of my week. Now, it's gone from me. My dear old friend is gone! I won't laugh at his funny stories anymore, I won't go to his dear old picnics anymore. I remember, Mr Reporter, how he would tell me how disgusted he was at the crime in Gotham City. And then... and then he was murdered. He was right, you know. There's way too much crime in this Allah-forsaken city. If there was one thing Mr Fox wished for when he was alive, it was that he could live in a city... where... where his grandchildren could feel that they were safe."
At this point, Ms FkFillet burst into tears and ended her speech.
"Okay, that's enough," said Borris, and snatched the remote from me.
He switched onto a showing of an episode from Cheery Chimpmunks, but the damage had already been done. Mr Fox's murder now haunted me even more.
"Come on, Bruce," said Borris, "Let's go for a walk. You need some fresh air."
"But I haven't finished my breakfast yet," I mumbled.
"Up you get, Master Wayne!" said Alfred, "You can finish your breakfast later. I'll look after it."
I stood up and put on my coat ($1200). The air was cold on my face, waking me up a little. We walked for a while, Borris and I, through the streets of Gotham Centre. We passed by Gotham Centre Park. I saw some children playing a game of Tag in the playground.
"Those children are lucky," I said, "They don't know what it's like to be an orphan."
"Bruce," said Borris, "You finally did what you've been working tirelessly for eight months to do. I've been with you through countless gun stores, on countless journeys across Gotham, to get to this point. Alfred helped you break into a house to get you here! You finally got the revenge you wanted. Your parents are satisfied now, Bruce! So what's wrong?"
"I don't know, man," I said, "This whole... murder. It just feels wrong."
"How so?"
"I feel guilty, Borris. I don't know why, I just do."
"He murdered your parents, Bruce! You said it yourself, he deserved to die! Heck... why am I the one who's defending the mission now? You were the one who was so enthusiastic about it! And don't say some shit about you being just as bad as the guy who murdered your parents! You're not!
You worked eight months non-stop, you trained in neo-karate, you spent millions of dollars, and it was worth it, Bruce! Never doubt that for a second! Never doubt that, somewhere, your parents are looking down upon you and feeling proud of their son! They're feeling proud of you, Bruce! You did something the police couldn't do! You proved them wrong when they said that it wasn't worth it. You, Bruce, brought justice to Gotham for once.
Don't listen to the news reports. You know Mr Fox's true nature, and they don't. We all saw the robe and the mask. He was a horrible, horrible person who would've probably murdered so many other people had he not been caught, and you prevented that. For once, you brought justice to the people of Gotham City. At the funeral, you spoke of how your father wished he could remove the crime from Gotham City. Well you, Bruce, removed one criminal yesterday. And for that, you should never berate yourself. Never berate yourself for killing Mr Fox. Your father would be proud that you did something he could never do. He'd be very, very proud."
Tears were running down my cheeks.
"Thank you so much, Borris," I said, and hugged him.
I clutched onto him like a sailor clutches to the last piece of wood they have that prevents them from drowning.
"It's alright, Bruce," said Borris, "Maybe you should try forgiving yourself once in a while."
"Yeah," I said, "Maybe I should."
I smiled. Goddamn it, but I smiled.
"I think we need to celebrate, hmm?" said Borris, "What do you think?"
"Yeah," I said chokily, "That sounds good."
"That's good to hear."
"How are we going to celebrate?"
"How does drinking, eating $200 ice-cream, and spending all day at the beach sound?"
"It sounds... perfect."
It really does.
2.
A week has passed. Whew, what a week it's been!
After the moment where I left my last entry on, Borris and I went to the pub and just drank and drank and drank. I finally allowed myself to relax and enjoy the alcohol. It was crazy at the pub that day.
I went up to a man and said, "Hey, man! Wanna get it on?"
"Get it on?" said the man.
He was large and buff, with red hair and fiery eyes. Exactly the sort of man one would expect to want to be left alone. Unfortunately, under my drunken brain, I didn't get the hint.
"Yeah," I said, "You know, get it on, get it up, down it goes, in the hatch."
"You're not making any sense, dude."
"Sense? Pfff. I don't need to make any sense!"
I leaned in and whispered, "I have murdered a guy."
The poor man looked shocked.
"No way. You didn't!"
"I did! It's true. And you know what? I don't feel any guilt over it. I just straight up shot him! And who cares?"
"You monster!"
And so that's how the fight started in the pub.
Battered, bruised and high, Borris and I were thrown out the pub. Luckily, our money got us back in.
"You again!?" screamed the red-haired man from before.
We got kicked out again.
"Okay, Brucey," said Borris, "You can make your own way home. I've got a date to go to."
"You're seeing a girl?"
"Um... Yep. Tonight."
"Damn, Borris. Good luck. Don't let the bedbugs bite!"
"I won't, Bruce. I won't."
"Oh, and don't go try too hard to stop her from murdering... Mr Fox, alright? It clearly didn't work on me!"
I chortled. Borris chortled back.
"Good-night, cuz," he said.
"See you tomorrow, Borris."
I decided to call a taxi.
"Wait a minute..." said the taxi driver, "Aren't you... Bruce WAYNE!?"
"Hey, don't sweat it. Just take me back to Wayne Manor."
"Yes, sir!"
On the ride home, I said, "Hey, taxi driver! You ever wished you did something... You ever wished you could take back something you did?"
"Nope. Do... you ever wish that for anything, Mr Wayne?"
"Nah-uh! I'm guilt-free."
"That's very good to know, Mr Wayne."
The next day, Alfred, Borris and I walked down to the beach, wearing sunglasses, playing cool music, and just in general being great. We suavely lay down our blankets on the soft, yellow sand.
A bunch of chicks came up to me.
"Sup?" I said.
"Mr Wayne?" one of them said nervously, "We were just wondering if we could get your autograph? We're just... big fans."
"Sure," I said, "As long as you got a pen."
"Thank you so much, Mr Wayne! You're truly the greatest!"
"Yep," I said, "I am."
"Hey!" said Borris from two blankets away from me, "Where's my autograph?"
"Just ignore him," I told the ladies.
On the third day, we went to another pub. We played poker. I lost $3000 and gained 10. No sweat.
Alfred seems to be a master at poker. He gained $5000 and lost none. Maybe I should be calling him Master, eh?
On the fourth day... More pubs. This time, we partied all night long. It got pretty crazy. People were having sex in the corners everywhere (not me), Borris got into a brawl with a funky teenager (I wasn't involved), and Alfred... Well, Alfred was surprisingly hip. More hip than me, that's for sure, that bastard!
There was a dance-off. I got in with a girl named either Amelia or Pretensia. We had something there, you know? I started up some conversation about the Death Star, which she was really invested in. Of course I had to ruin it by bringing up how my parents died!
"Oh, you know my parents died?" I said.
"Damn. I'm sorry," Pretensia said, "How long ago?"
"Eight months."
Pretensia nodded.
"Yep. Real bad stuff."
I nodded back.
"Anyway," said Pretensia, "I'm gonna go talk to that guy over there."
"Wait! I'm rich!" I shouted desperately.
She didn't believe me.
I ended that night by waking up with some underwear on my face. Don't know how that got there.
On the fifth day I bought 70 packets of $200 ice-cream, and ate it all in one day. Needless to say, I was extremely sick. There was definitely at least some vomit involved in the process, as well as a lot of stomach aches. A fun day in principle, but, believe me, not worth it. I probably should've eaten 60 packets instead.
The sixth day came.
In the morning, I went over to my parents' graves again. I kneeled beside them and looked up at the names of the two people I love the most in the world. It's been eight months now, and I still miss them. I miss them so goddamn much!
"Well, mum and dad," I said softly, "I guess I'm happy now."
I kissed each of their tombstones and went back to the Tank-Lamborghini.
"Done now?" asked Borris.
"Yep."
"Alright! Then get ready for another day of fun!"
"I am so ready, Borris."
But as Alfred drove away the Tank-Lamborghini, I looked back at the hill where my parents' graves are located.
"I hope you're happy too," I whispered.
The Tank-Lamborghini drove out of the graveyard, and Borris said, "It's really nice to see you having some fun for once, Bruce, after all those months spent brooding around."
"I know, right?" I laughed, "All thanks to you, Borris."
"Hey, give yourself some of the credit too!"
I laughed.
"No, but seriously, thanks for everything you've done for me, Borris."
"Oh, don't mention it. All that matters is that you're having fun."
"Yeah, remember yesterday, when I ate 70 packets of $200 ice-cream?"
"Oh my god, Bruce!" Borris laughed, "You love those ice-creams way too much!"
"It's like I'm addicted to them!"
"Where are we going today, Masters?" asked Alfred, "Beach or pub?"
Borris and I looked at each other.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Borris asked.
"Pub!" we both shouted.
That night, I drank the most out of the nights so far. I remember pretty much nothing from it, and today, I have the absolute worst hangover. I stank like a corpse as well, but luckily, I have a Premium Gotham Steam membership (Gotham Steam's a bathing centre). I was soon smelling like a piece of bacon. What made me even happier was that the Gotham Steam Centre had my favourite type of perfume, and that almost excused the horrible hangover.
So, yeah. I'm happy.