Author: ArtisticAbandon PM
Small vignette. Why he's out here, night after night.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Bruce W./Batman - Words: 609 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 04-05-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2877152
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Summary: Bruce/Batman, on why he's out here, night after night.
Author: SahRae Hyjo
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Damn.
Categories: Um, vignette of 474 words; G, or the equivalent thereof.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
Archive: Of course! Just lemme know where.
Notes: I have a 1500 word assignment due in two days and twice as many weeks of works to do. So what am I doing? Writing this, of course. After this, I think my muse and I need to sit down and have a little "talk"...
You see all kinds of things in this business.
I've seen things...things I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even my worst enemy, and trust me, there's plenty of them out there to chose from. In this business, you tend to make enemies just by staying alive for one more night, one more hour, hell, even one more second.
Some nights, some days, I don't know why...I don't why I do what I do. I don't why I keep trying, and failing, night after night.
Other times, I know it with crystal clarity.
I do it, because I can't stop. I don't know how, and I don't want to know. Because it's a part of me, this life, this job. It's a part of me, for better or worse, and it's not really something I can turn off. I can't shut it down, and god knows I've tried.
Because as bad as this is, I know it could be worse. Much worse. I've been there, I've seen it, and I've done it. I've had a part in the worst there is. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's also not something I can forget. Not when I see it, again and again, every time I close my eyes.
And they wonder why I no longer sleep much, why I'm out here so much.
At least out here it's quiet. I could hear myself think. If silence was bliss, than the chaos of Gotham's streets at night was trescendant stuff indeed. It's exactly what I need to thrive. Every time I return to the Cave after a hard night's work, I feel...fuller, somehow, satisfied. Driven, yes, but sated still. I'm not going to stop. Not now. There's too much still to be done. And I know I'm having an effect. I can see it in the criminals' faces, in the eyes as they realise I'm standing there, bringing vengeance to them.
That's why I do it. Because out on the streets, I'm fighting back. I can give Justice to those that have had none. And each time I come out there, I give them my blood, my sweat, my tears to make sure it happens – and I'll do it all over again the night after that. Each and every night, I'm out here, fighting the good fight, seeing the best and the worst of what this world dishes out. I'll face down the world if I have to. I've done it before. I'll do it again. For them, for the faceless ones in the crowds who cry out in the darkness, in the corners of rooms, in the shadows where no one hears them. Where no one is listening but me, and those who fight with me. My family.
Because they are my legacy, and that is my addiction.