Years Later

Mom was murdered when I was 14.

She, unlike my uncle, followed every rule when it came to surviving. She kept her head down. Even when a strand of Joker’s strand of coke slowly killed off the remnants of the family we had left. She kept her ears shut, even when our neighbor upstairs had an argument loud and violent enough that it ended up in gunshots.

Mom died for nothing. Some of the Dockyard Dogs spotted her on her way back home from work. They tried to rob her. She explained and reasoned that she had no money to give. Anything on her person wasn't worth anything in particular. Maybe her phone. They grew angry, and agitated at the fact residents of the docks were not making their 'payments'. A lesson needed to get taught. I don't know what they are going to do, I still don't want to know.

Batman showed up. Shots were fired. He tried to protect her. One of the shots hit her lungs. Reports say that he took them out violently after. She lost too much blood to save her. He gave her something to numb the pain and held her as she passed. The little parts of me left are thankful for that.

The whole Dockyard Dogs crew was quickly dismantled after that. Batman wasn't happy. All 13 of them were tried in court for a slew of things. They bribed the judge and almost got off scot-free. But the true bosses of Port Adams heard the news of boys trying to play with adults. Some crime lord out there sent them to Blackgate Penitentiary. Every one of them disappeared.

I've been feeling hollow sense. I didn't cry at her funeral. At the time I didn't even know who paid for it. It's not that I didn't want to cry, I just couldn't. It's as if the shock hit me so hard that it's now my baseline. I didn't even emote when millionaire Bruce Wayne himself came for condolences. He empathized with the loss of his parents. He talked through the pain of living but encouraged me to keep going. I listened to every word but couldn't feel them. He knew my mother and father, they worked for his father once upon a time.

Mr. Wayne paved the way for me to get sent to a lovely foster home. Well, it would be lovely. Nothing has made me happy after. The numbness consumed who I once was. Gotham is a sinkhole and I've been flushed away like all others. I've turned into many of the other undead in the city. Living but empty.

The family sent me to therapy. It didn't help. The happy pills but a temporary dose to make me seem normal.Sardonic capsules that made my presence less distasteful. Though the lessons of youth have been hammered into me. I kept my head down. Been taking them for a while now.

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School after that was both easy and strenuous. Strenuous in the social sense. The bonds built with my friends have been… frayed. You never know whether bonds are string or wound iron until it's stress tested. The test showed, no, no they don't fuck with me that much. Though I understand. I changed. I was no longer interested in the high school buzz. My curiosity for the unknown, minor or major was stomped and discarded. I don't smile, I don't laugh and I no longer care. To most, I'm on autopilot. A bi-pedal automation of flesh and bone. It makes people uncomfortable. The unknown of something not experienced makes the common person uneasy. It is human nature.

The true help that kept me from the dangers of an orphan in Gotham was the sheer clout Bruce held. Everyone in the area knows when one of the Waynes shows their face. Even I do. They all know of my family's death. Batman showed up, it made the news.

Bruce is a prince. And I am a zombie he calls on the phone sometimes.

Since I no longer had distractions or even hobbies, I concentrated on classes to ease my boredom. I started to pass every subject taught. It was easy. Making my brain work and trudge through every assignment made me frustrated. The success of work paid with a smidge of validation. It was almost invigorating. When I got my final report card it showed the efforts of my labor. Straight As a 3.8 GPA. The moment let me have a distant thought. Mom would've been proud. It made me cry. It's a relished moment. A brief break from the sheer void of emotion. Validation not from peers but from the memories of the loved ones.

Today I found out I've been accepted into every school I applied for. A whole ride and additional benefits from Gotham University.

I'm no longer a fool enough to think it's because of my ability. Gotham is filled to the brim with geniuses. It's foolish to think that the big wig educational overlords suddenly respect my efforts. Bruce's fame and power opened doors. Wayne's money paid for everything else. It opened my doors. But it came with a debt. One I'm not sure I can pay. I don't have direction. A goal to even go to college for.

Why would someone not living even get a degree?

My bus ride home turned into a contemplative endeavor. What would I do? The world's my oyster. Everything every other orphan in Gotham would kill to be me for minutes. The worst would literally kill me to be me. Yet my thoughts went blank when asked for an answer. Why would I become a doctor if I cared nothing for life? Why study engineering if I just become another cog? Why study psychology if my mind is broken? Why learn business when you have no use for money?

The bustle of the Kubrick District bus offers an answer. Blend in with the chaos. Become like the ladies in front and argue about whose man is who. Ask advice from the man who smells like piss and alcohol. Break another one of these decrepit windows, it'd make no difference. Pledge to the crips sitting to the left. Offer money to the prostitute and see what happens. Scrape and toil to clean the rusted and stained seats. Remain who I am, a beggar handed gold. Or become another dead black man, a statistic.

My mind reminds me I won't make it past 21. I'm already 18, I only have three years left.

I'm only reminded of reality when I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I never even noticed getting off my stop.

I try to bring myself to cry. It’s become an after-school ritual. Just like every day, not a thing happens.

My voice rumbles as I say to myself, " I guess I'll just keep existing. Eventually, I'll live again."

An unfamiliar voice giggles behind me and replies, " Oh, you're perfect."

I whip my head around and only get a glance at the man. Bald and scarred. Two fresh slashes on his neck. A force clocks my jaw and my vision blackens as I fall to the bathroom floor.