Foreshadowing. The word whose meaning lies to finely bound and weaved within the thin strands of a book or movies plot, the startling and brutal dark humor that slithers through the atmosphere, seeping beneath your skin as the tingling burns into your flesh. Those sickly little words and brutish comments that swivel around so anonymously, so feral and vicious, yet barely even noticed by the common human psyche. Everyone's read those lines that melt across the page in thick black ink, everyone's heard the comments drip between the parched lips of a actor on the big screen, but the one thing that is hardly ever noticed... real life foreshadowing.
The world is a book, a maze created by a brutal and twisted mind, swirling around their little string puppets in their whirl wind of man made drama and pain, although we hardly know it. Everything, the things that seem so far out of grasp, the scenarios we struggle to control as they lash around wildly, unexpectedly, as rabid and untamed as they may seem, they are all manipulated, twisted and controlled by a genius unknown to us all. The person in charge, a repulsive murderer, for each person is planted on this earth with one sure and final destiny, to meet their demise. It's just so rare for a person to pick up these little microscopic traces and acknowledge them, but I, however, happen to be one of the few aware. I remember the day the foreshadowing arrived…
The air was full of a negative charge that day, so soggy and suffocating, intoxicating electricity reverberating between the thick foggy particles of smoke that spiraled away from the thin white cigarette the quivered feverishly in my mothers shaking fingers. My eyelids wouldn't dare flutter to shield my dehydrating eyeballs from the thin layer of dirt and dust that was settling over my vision as I stared out the cracked, dull window. I remember the way the breath snaked over my chapped, unscarred lips as my eyes swallowed the surroundings of the outside horizon, a world I rarely developed a chance to expose myself too. The land was so stiff, the people shuffling down the streets so sluggish and mannequin like, it almost felt as if I were staring at a still life painting, something I never saw much of.
I knew the day was different the moment I arose from my mangled and twisted bed sheets, the second I emerged from my cocoon of warmth and the unnatural icy breath of the room collided with my bruised flesh. The beating I received from my drunken father the night prior had been nothing more than usual, he staggered down the same dingy hallway and delivered the same predictable, sloppy punches at my mother and I, nothing out of the ordinary… so I couldn't begin to imagine why I woke up feeling so… tense. I had nothing to fear in the mornings, nothing more than the tired and painful groans of my hung over father as he lie sprawled over the armrest of the living room chair. Yet, I till felt, strange, almost neutral, like I were viewing my life from the eyes of an invisible man in the corner and I couldn't even decide rather to climb out of my mountain of bed sheets or remain buried alive in them. I never expected what the next few hours would deliver me, the thing that would dissect and permanently scar me, but one thing was for sure, I knew things were going to take a drastic turn.
That day was nearly twenty years ago now, and I must say I never could have been more right about my prediction, all though I couldn't even begin to imagine the fate of that night. I was, however, correct about one thing… I've never been the same since, it remains the day of my first rebirth, my first breaths as Red Hood. But even that is a different story, the exact same shell with and entirely different mind set from my current one, the one I adore most.
The night air was sticky and humid, my my tangled green-ish brown locks caked to the back of my neck as I quietly danced across the glistening wet sidewalk a few paces behind the lovely, unaware lady, her black skirt and jacket hugging against her glowing flesh, damp with the nights precipitation as her black heels slapped against the pavement. A pair of violence and casualty free nights had been allowed to slither through my fingers, in favor of my generosity, of course. The batman surely deserves at least a small sliver of a break after all these years of work, not that it was necessarily about that, because it seems to me like he walked out and took a break of his own… No wondrous Dark Knight had swooped in to rescue my last the victims, and to be quiet honest, that was not to my liking. So after a couple of days of observing and awaiting the Batman, my hands have grown fidgety, itching for my knives, and I've become increasingly ravenous from the murders I've been lacking a I closed in on the graceful and beautiful target. Maybe tonight my eyes would again sweep across the mask so securely hiding the identity of my dear little Bat…
"Mom… Mom, why are you letting him do this, why are you letting that thing do this?! You know what happens, you know what always happens, I don't understand why we are even still here, what makes you want to stay with that sick, incoherent bastard anyway? He's going to kill us Mom, [i]murder[/i] and you know that, he has tried it on me, and you know that, you see what he does to me, and I know what he does to you yet you refuse to remove either of us from this hell for you would rather tolerate it and suffer to your death than run… Why, Mom, why do you let us sit through this?! I can't keep doing this, I refuse it!" I screamed raggedly and weak, my arms growing less and less in control as they wobbled furiously, the shards of splitting wood cutting into the palms of my scarred and worn hands. I can't keep doing this, this door was going to come down one way or another, that I was positive of as the crashes came harder, the fragile rickety wooden door spitting slivers of wood at us as it shook violently in its frame.
Nothing could hold back what drunken rage lie nestled so willingly and confidently on the other side of this door, and our only escape was going to be unable to be reached by either of us so long as this thing I called my mother remained useless, huddled in the corner, staring dully at me as if I were the ignored adult of the scenario.
"Just let him do whatever it is he wants, you know it's going to happen, and so long as it makes him happy, I'm not going to stop him…" she mumbled hoarsely, wrapping herself in a thick purple blanket, hugging her butcher knife closely to her chest as if it were her own selfish desire, leaving me, her supposed son, to fend for himself. Something just seemed to spark in the atmosphere in that moment as I stared at this horrible creature in disbelief, the electricity in the room vastly swimming through my organs as I realized for the first and last time what was going to unravel before us. This was to be the night that only one of us would crawl away so bruised and torn… and it wasn't going to be my mother this time like it had been so many other times… This was when I first realized how incredibly much I hated my mother for being such a coward as the door quavered a last time, the thick and heavy structure connecting with my skull.
"Please, sir, p-please... I'll let you have or do w-whatever you want… whatever makes you h-happy…just please d-don't kill me…" her quivering, weak voice pleaded as her bony, thin hands pried and struggled with my single hand that so tightly coiled around her throat. The other pressed against he cheek, the vegetable peeler so comfortably nestled in my hand, digging into and denting the soft satin that was her skin as her short electric blonde hair lay caked messily against her tear and mascara stained face. I could see the desperation and plea seeping from those emerald crystal irises, glazed in a haze of thick fear and adrenaline. It definitely wasn't out of the question that she was to be one of my more beautiful victims, what a shame she had to be such a disgusting little coward, there's no fun in destroying one of those, for they are what I receive everyday.
I laughed manically, tilting her head back lightly, pressing the vegetable peeler against her skin, sliding it gently across her exposed reddening cheek bones, traces of blood fracturing the drying skin cells, seeping and struggling from their river canyons to drip messily down her face and across my knuckles, a small whimper crawling over her lips. Just days without this addicting sensation, just two days of being separated had been far more than enough time, because this moment caused the blood cells to echo between my artery walls, anticipation scraping at my thin organs. I was the alcoholic being reunited with their bottles of red washed poison, and nothing could have felt more marvelous.
"You know, you remind me of my mother… a woman that during one of my very last memories of, I learned to hate… the woman I grow to hate more and more every single day even with her dead and gone…"I mused quietly, running my thumb back and forth across the silk skin that lie smoothly across her throat as I clutched it somewhat tighter. I could hear the tiny whine slithering unwillingly through her throat as she stared wide eyed into my face, looking at everything but my eyes, but mainly my scars. I could no longer see any trace of a beautiful girl in her anymore, all I saw staring back at me was the coward face of my mother, a face I had grown so sick of.
"B-but I'm not your m-mother… so it s-shouldn't matter… you should h-have killed her for it, n-not me…" she mumbled voice growing more fragile and shaky by the second. I shook my head and laughed harder.
"That is exactly what I hated about her" I growled, shoving the blade of the vegetable peeler deeper into her skin, embedding it beneath a pile of scarlet dyed flesh that was collecting there as she cried out in pain, her manicured fingernails digging beneath the skin in my wrists, drawing crescent shaped holes into my flesh where sticky blood to seeped beneath her fingertips. "Also, had it not been for her foolish and selfish mistake I wouldn't have these scars, I wouldn't have these needs, and you, yes you have a reason to hate her too. Because, had she not made such an egotistical mistake, then I wouldn't have to be here right now, and neither would you…"
"P-please, anything you want, a-anything, just don't kill me, I…I won't even t-tell the cops what y-you did…" I grinned, shaking my head as I edged my face closer to hers forcing those tear swimming, jade eyes to focus on my own unwillingly. I tisked, as the sobs began to choke from her lungs and the pleas dribbled hopelessly from her lips. People like this brought back to many memories of my mother, memories I would rather not have for obvious reasons other than the fact that I now hate her, there is no reason for anyone to writhe in front of me with the same will and fate as she had, no reason to let them suffer when I could be the creator of their doomsday.
"What if I told you that the only thing I want from you is for you to shrivel up into a lifeless corpse to be displayed so perfectly corroded across the sidewalk as the water washed your blood down miles of cracks in the walk way, what if I told you that is what I truly wanted from you?"
"No, no…p-please, w-why are you doing t-this?! Batman will s-stop this!" she screamed thrashing her arms at me violently but only inflicting more unintended harm to herself as the blade slid deeper into her tearing flesh and muscles fragments. She screamed as I clutched the back of her neck tighter, fighting to hold her still until she nearly collapsed to the ground in exhaust, tears already scrolling timidly over her blood caked face.
"Because, you, my darling have little to live for, but at the same time, you living is worth far more than you could ever imagine, to your precious little Bat…" I sang cheerily, the smile crawling across my makeup caked face as the confusion trickled across her features, the strength from her fighting hands scribbling out to a limp little mannequin staring me in the face.
Haha, little Bat, have I a surprise for you…