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thejusticelounge2014-03-27 08:34 am
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2014-03-27 08:34 am
Entry tags:
this bird you cannot change
This Bird You Cannot Change
Blood.
There’s blood dripping down his face, around his eyes, over his forehead. He doesn’t mind it so much. The blood is the only thing he knows is real; it’s his only point of reference. He’s on his back, his head hanging over the side of…a cloud? A bed? It feels soft, but everything is deceptive here. Whatever it is, he’s resting on it, and that’s what counts. They’re scattered and their giving him a break. Something has happened.
He only remembers a few things, flashes of feelings and contact from his arrival until now. He’d swung up to a higher branch of the beanstalk into some blinding place. Something had taken him, enveloped him, shoved itself inside of him, then left him naked and shivering in the dark. Voices had whispered all around him in languages he felt he should have understood, but couldn’t quite grasp. They had shown him images of things happening in the camp, of bloodshed and horror and despair, and what would he trade to stop Them?
"Nothing."
He wasn’t here to trade. He was here to tell them it was over. They are done.
"Non-negotiable."
It had felt like reality itself had bristled at his calmness, his audacity. They showed him Bruce and his double, Damian and the creature that wore Talia’s head, the dying Child covered in blood from his brother’s blade. What would he trade?
"Nothing."
So they turned their attacks on him. She appeared before him in the shapes of Mirage and Tarantula, touching him, kissing him, using him. He’d closed his eyes and thought of Kori, of Barbara, of Helena and Bridget and Bette, the smell of their shampoos, of their perfumes, of kevlar and spandex and the noodles Barbara still couldn’t cook and the wine Kori always brought him and the cool air of a quiet night in Bludhaven. The touches had vanished the more he thought and the harder he felt until he’d woken up…
here
on the cloud bed
bleeding
but alive.
Dick smiles. He will trade Them nothing, but he will get his family home.
Blood.
There’s blood dripping down his face, around his eyes, over his forehead. He doesn’t mind it so much. The blood is the only thing he knows is real; it’s his only point of reference. He’s on his back, his head hanging over the side of…a cloud? A bed? It feels soft, but everything is deceptive here. Whatever it is, he’s resting on it, and that’s what counts. They’re scattered and their giving him a break. Something has happened.
He only remembers a few things, flashes of feelings and contact from his arrival until now. He’d swung up to a higher branch of the beanstalk into some blinding place. Something had taken him, enveloped him, shoved itself inside of him, then left him naked and shivering in the dark. Voices had whispered all around him in languages he felt he should have understood, but couldn’t quite grasp. They had shown him images of things happening in the camp, of bloodshed and horror and despair, and what would he trade to stop Them?
"Nothing."
He wasn’t here to trade. He was here to tell them it was over. They are done.
"Non-negotiable."
It had felt like reality itself had bristled at his calmness, his audacity. They showed him Bruce and his double, Damian and the creature that wore Talia’s head, the dying Child covered in blood from his brother’s blade. What would he trade?
"Nothing."
So they turned their attacks on him. She appeared before him in the shapes of Mirage and Tarantula, touching him, kissing him, using him. He’d closed his eyes and thought of Kori, of Barbara, of Helena and Bridget and Bette, the smell of their shampoos, of their perfumes, of kevlar and spandex and the noodles Barbara still couldn’t cook and the wine Kori always brought him and the cool air of a quiet night in Bludhaven. The touches had vanished the more he thought and the harder he felt until he’d woken up…
here
on the cloud bed
bleeding
but alive.
Dick smiles. He will trade Them nothing, but he will get his family home.