Bruce Wayne – Entry 1
My therapist… No… Bruce Wayne’s therapist wanted me to keep this record of my thoughts. As a way to work through some of the anxiety and frustration I’ve been experiencing. Whether that is frustration as Bruce Wayne or myself… I’m not altogether sure. Listen to me… My “being” is so convuluted that I can’t even refer to myself as myself anymore. Who am I really?
I’m that demonic night-being that prowls the dirty and stink filled alleyways of Gotham in the hope that I can protect those that must exist within it’s tainted embrace. All so that maybe just one poor soul can break free of this godforsaken city… It sure won’t be mine.
Just last night, no… This morning… I felt the adrenaline rush when I heard a scream echoing through the suffocating streets. I wanted, needed… there to be some darkness in the air and when that scream pierced the blackness of the night, I felt purpose in my soul. So am I going out night after night to help others or to make myself actually feel something within?
I had arrived in no time to the scene of the crime. There was a hooker on the ground, scratched up knees and elbows, with her skirt ripped from the bottom. Standing over her was a skinny thug in a black and yellow Gotham City Rogues taco cap, ripped and torn skinny jeans that looked two sizes to tight, and a red tank top, finished off by brandishing a switchblade. It was just an instant but I recognized the change and it was startling. I felt disappointment that this was all that I was facing. A worthless street punk that I would break in mere seconds. 12 seconds to be exact. The only 12 seconds of the night where I felt alive.
By the time dawn broke, I was back at the cave. I stripped out of my second skin and made my way up the steps to the mansion. Every step felt heavy and I could feel the weight upon my shoulders increase as I traversed those cut stone steps. I poured a bourbon and sat half naked in my study as the sun slowly rose. I didn’t have the energy to climb another flight of stairs to the second story of the mansion and make my way to the bedroom. It was as if my costume, my second skin, was the energy that enveloped me and now I was a shell of a man with no purpose, sitting in the warm light of a new day. Completely dead to the world.
-Jason Falter (2018)