Joking, But Definitely Not Laughing
I haven’t always been this way, you know. At some point in life, things just change. You don’t know where the hell it comes from, but all of a sudden everything just becomes one giant cluster fuck. Now, of course, that may not happen in everybody’s life as drastically as it had happened with myself, but in one way or another, shit happens. Excuse my profanity, I’m not usually used to speaking out loud due to my lonely tendencies… I think a lot, and often curse words run across my brain, so pardon my french, mademoiselle.
Love is the only thing that is hysterical, insane, and life-consuming (except for me). We focus all of our energy on that one other person, and that’s love. We make sure that all of their necessities must be met because if they aren’t the happiest they can possibly be, then I have failed as a companion. To put it this way, love is damn near impossible. There’s only one person that you’ll find that you will truly adore and love for eternity, because love is permanent. Here I am, only two paragraphs into my story and I’ve already used the word “love” five times, there’s a statistic for all of those Gotham bookies that that ignorant Batman has been protecting lately.
Love is what drove me crazy, a lack of love, at least. It still drives me crazy. I grew up a somewhat regular kid, but frustration often got the best of me. I was mentally stronger than the kids in my class, but I was also merely a fragment of their size. I was easy to pick on because of the scar I had on my face, they would call me incredibly unoriginal names like, “Scarface” or “Papercut Cheek.” Seriously, their level of intelligence was ridiculously inferior. But the only way they knew how to cope with their stupidity was by taking their anger out on my body. How in the hell is that fair to me? What did I ever do to Shawn Shaugnessey? That asshole didn’t leave me alone from grades K-8. The reason I chose the high school that I did was just so I could feel comfortable attending classes from there on out. The only time I felt truly comfortable as a younger kid going through elementary/middle school was when I was at home lying on my couch listening to my mother’s clock tick-tick-tick-tick.
Things changed once I got to high school though, I matured. No longer was I this dinky little pip-squeak that people could throw into garbage cans. I started to use makeup to cover up my scar, that was a trick my mom showed me before her accident. Things were looking to turn around for me, my grades never declined below an A average so that was never a legitimate issue. I always loved creating things. Seeing my creation become real gave me the greatest sense of accomplishment. Sports never interested me, I was more focused on real world issues. Everyday when I would get home I would finish my homework, then watch CNN and listen to music religiously. Speaking of religion, I’ve never been much of a believer in God. That’s not because science is my favorite subject, but just because if there were a God then why would he have let this happen to me?
Never would I have thought that alcohol and drugs would legitimately affect my life in any manner, but a lot of things can happen over the course of four short years in high school. I was your average kid, I started drinking towards the beginning of my 11th grade year and experimented with drugs as well. Nothing major like what the ‘Crucial Crack Killaz’ were doing, I tried to stray away from those kinds of anarchist groups. Instead I fell in love with marijuana, I say fell in love because I didn’t believe I was addicted, but instead I felt like I needed it medically. It helped me escape reality and avoid sobriety in a broken down home. It made me feel in control, and oh boy is there nothing I love more than being in control. Beers didn’t allow me to be in control, instead my testosterone and hormones would take over and all I could focus on was sex. Of course my father influenced my negative opinion on alcohol, I’ve single handedly watch a bottle of jack captivate and destroy a man subtly. Once you witness that; you never want to touch the damn stuff. The smell of it doesn’t intoxicate me but instead reiterates how depressing my childhood was without a loving mother and a drunk for a father. So there I would lay, while he would scream from his room at the TV, I would drown out his obnoxious sounds and just listen… Tick-tick-tick-tick.
There’s nothing I despise more than a societal hero. Shawn Shaugnessey was a societal hero, everyday he would depict the lower class kids in my grade and the popular people would laugh along with him. Society has failed to accept me because they’ve never been able to overcome my scar, even in high school they looked at me funny. Never gave me a chance, never once did a kid invite me to sit with him at lunch. And I told myself I was okay with that, I told myself that I would accept that. I kept to myself and plotted how to become accepted. Never did I figure it out, until the day I found her.
It was my sophomore year of college at NYU, I was in a bar one night working incredibly diligently on a paper that had been assigned a month prior, but disregard that paper because the subject matter of it is insignificant. I first saw her when she stumbled out of the bathroom, drunk as a sailor who just found a keg of whiskey. The first thing I noticed about her was the fashion she had, draped in purple and a matching velvet skirt. She was with one girlfriend, but yet she seemed so alone. A loneliness I could relate to. She seemed to represent me before she even knew I existed, that’s when I knew I had to have her, but not in this state of mind. I approached her that night and told her where she could reach me and she did the same in return.
The next morning we had coffee and she somehow remembered me, immediately we connected. We didn’t leave each other’s side for months, I even introduced her to my father who was surprisingly impressed. We played cards for hours on end, and it was the first time I’d ever seen even a remote showcase of emotion from him since mom’s accident. Since my mom, she was the only person I’ve really cared about, the only person I would give everything up for. She accepted me unlike anyone else ever had, she saw me for all of the positive attributes and never once mentioned my scar. That was the best thing about her, how she treated me as if I was just a normal person, for the first time in years I felt wanted. Nobody else aside from her has ever been able to ignore my differences. Gotham can be such a dark and cruel place.
It was one of those normal days in Gotham, you know, pretty damn busy. She was headed downtown to her temporary job where she was a receptionist for The Gothic Daily, which is our regional website and monthly magazine. I was at an ULTA store purchasing some new make up for her as a surprise. She loved all of her cosmetics, she used to practice on me because she thought she could become a makeup artists for celebrities as a hobby. Not a career, just a hobby, because she aspired to be a writer, a poet, a matter of a fact… Everything she wrote just spilled so easily, it was all so smooth and heart warming. She could look at me and tell what kind of mood I was in and then illustrate with words a passage that could enlighten my entire being. That’s what I miss most about her, that simplicity that was also complex. Fuck. I just wish I could do something, anything, that is that incredible and meaningful…
She was leaving for her lunch break to meet me, and I was in a taxi headed to pick her up. As I saw her walk out of the building, a greedy bastard of a robber came up to her and hijacked her purse. All of a sudden, I see this black blur drop down from what seemed like a staircase from heaven. He wrestled the hijacker as he pulled out his gun and attempted to shoot at this black blur but missed drastically, the most drastic miss that would ever happen, the one time that I wish something went exactly right and not perfectly wrong. As I got out of the car and slammed the door shut to console her because of the robber harassing her, I dropped to my knees. Everything went dead silent. The miss of the bullet meant for the black blur struck her directly in the chest. I can still see the image vividly in my mind… She immediately collapsed to the ground and I crawled over to her, practically incapable of being able to stand. All I saw was the black blur disappear after that. The people around us seemed to just freeze due to what must have been shock, there was no initial response of calling an ambulance or anything. Just complete silence, and just a cowardly black blur disappearing. That’s all I can remember of that day. After that, I’ve been lifeless.
The only meaning I have left in my life is to find the black blur, the caped crusader who portrays himself as a hero but is really just a courageless, heartless, and cowardly good-for-nothing son of a bitch. No matter what happens, I will always represent her, represent her openness to loving me. Let everyone know that I’m not afraid of who I am because she wasn’t. I will look for him till the day I die and make his life a living hell until then. All I want is for him to understand exactly what it’s like to have a life without any meaning. Everyday he will have to overcome countless obstacles due to my disturbance, I can guarantee you that. Whether or not that means that I have to murder the “innocent” will be concluded at a later time. But I do have a concentrated list that I will be going for first. Perhaps Mr. Shaugnessey, the CEO of T&A Realty, will find himself atop my roll call. And as for the robber who caused this mayhem in the first place, well, let’s just saying his insides will be going tick-tick-tick-tick for not too much longer. But that’s not who I’m concerned about. All of my focus will be dedicated towards eliminating Gotham’s “hero”. And they say that every hero needs a villain, it just depends which perspective you’re looking from.