I Write Off Sins, Not Tragedies
That was something one the greatest and most inspirational men ever to walk the world said, a wise man, and the only shameful thing about it is that it took me this long to realise he was right. I always wondered why no one has tried to be a proper super-hero, it takes so little to push a human to do something crazy, but apparently it takes a little more to push a human to go that one step further, beyond insanity, and try save the world. All this bullshit about rap and heavy songs making teenagers want to go out and kill people, I say they're wrong, no comic or movie has ever made a teenager want to don on a cape and go kick some ass.... until now anyway.
A young woman looks at her watch, how can the train be late? it arrives from just down the street. She can't miss the meeting, it was very important for her promotion, unlike co-worker Tiffany she needed to actually work to get what she wanted. Not that the young woman was ugly, she was actually pretty beautiful, rather just that she had morals, and a boyfriend... so sucking off the boss to get some extra credit, like Tiff, was something she would not do. A fifty two year old man, married, with two kids, being pleasured by a twenty two year old, dumb broad, was just sick. In Charlotte's opinion anyway. She always had the urge to tell Tiff's boyfriend, or the CEO's of the company, but that would be very unwise.
She flipped her brunette hair back over her shoulder to get a better look, her eyes not wavering from the watch face, she was counting how late the train would be when it finally arrives. A handbag hanging loosely on her left shoulder, she wore a beige plait jacket with matching skirt, which overall didn't show anything over than some leg (knee down), the top half of her breasts and minor cleavage. She was a businesswoman, but once she lets her hair down, she could be quite the wild one. From around the corner came the train, pulling in slowly, coming to a halt in front of the six people around her, who she didn't care to notice. "finally" Charlotte moaned under her breath, unhappy with the service, the doors slid open.
That was when she was knocked off her feet, a man in dark clothing came running out from nowhere, knocking her down he grabbed the handbag in the same movement, shouting rude remarks back at her, he was laughing to himself. He kept running the length of the platform, heading for the furthest door... WHACK. Out from behind one of the pillars came something smacking into his face, holding his nose he stopped, but the blows didn't. One to the ribs, then to the knee, and whilst he dropped to kneeling he took another in the face. Above the robber stood a man in even darker uniform, dark jeans, ski goggles, a neck scarf covering the mouth and a black hoodie, accompanied with the bat symbol. Two nightsticks in his hands.
He picked up the handbag and ran back to the fallen lady, "There you go lady" he said in his deepest voice, muffled by the scarf. She was about to say thanks but the guards were arriving and he quickly jumped onto the still train, doors closing behind him, the train carried on to it's next destination. The dark man was breathing heavy with excitement, he pulled his hood down along with the scarf and removed his goggles, revealing dark brown hair and dazzling blue eyes, as deep as the ocean. From the only taken seat came his brown haired friend, a smile wide and burrowed on his face.... "Jason that was awesome, you should check out the footage I got"
(That was my -Batfan- teaser, hope you enjoyed it)
(thanks guys)
"I want freedom for the full expression of my personality" - Mahatma Gandhi
Once again i am only just realising the greatness of this great man. What he says is pretty much what I do, indeed I may not have been doing it for very long, a week at max, but by beating on the one's that are beating on others is my freedom, and my expression of personality. Recently a dark deed has been done unto me, and through kicking ass I can vent my anger, in what I extend to be a good way. I am stopping evil, without question? yes. Is that bad? not necessarily. Those who have done wrong can never justify their means, what they do is wrong and needs punishment, I am their punisher, to an extent, their executioner. By what I do, those who have been done wrong by, and I know how that feels, they will have their justice, I am their savior. Some say what I do is as wrong as wrong-doings, but I say they are incorrect, I am doing right through discipline. For people to know they have done bad, they need a beating to say so, that is discipline, something Britain has been missing.
Where It all began
An eight year old boy sat before his grandfather, the lights are dim and outside is becoming dark. The room is old, just like the rest of the house and the two who reside inside of it. Stacked on the shelves are books, some novels, some journals and others manuals. It was all mostly army stuff, excluding a few novels and the manuals, all souvenirs from Jeremy MacLeod's World War 2 experience, a battle in which he lost his father and a brother, as well as the top of his left ear. Francis MacLeod Sr. and Francis MacLeod Jr. both saw their last days doing their duty for queen and country. All of the MacLeod sons saw face of war, four survived, all earning medals. The eight year old Jason was once again listening to one of his favourite war times story. In his eyes grandfather Jeremy MacLeod was the greatest hero of all time, over Batman and Superman, he was real. All though Jason still questioned his parents why the disguised Bruce Wayne wasn't running the roof tops of Gotham. Jerry had a broad smile on his face as he recalled the story, looking down upon grandson in his throne-like chair.
Down stairs Jason's mum was talking to her mother-in-law Patricia, a sweet old lady, who always baked biscuits when the family came around. The second batch were still baking in the oven and Jay could smell them all the way upstairs. His three brothers and two sisters sat in the living room watching television, most likely a video on their grandparents VHS. His brothers were apparently too old for the war tales, and his sisters were too girly. But Jay loved his granddads heroism and idled him for it, as well as giving as much respect to him as he could muster. Jerry showed him his medal collection once more due to Jason's request. They were putting them back when Pat called up that the biscuits were ready, all of a sudden they could hear the rushing of feet, that was the disadvantage of being upstairs, but Jerry picked Jay up and swung him onto his back, he was still nimble for an old man, as he would say, Jerry was as fit as a fiddle. Jay was carried down to his cookie and together the family enjoyed (excluding Jason the first who was on police duty), a loving night together. Their last. A month later Jerry and Pat MacLeod were involved in a car crash. A week later they died in hospital from internal bleeding. Jason remembers everyone crying and his feeling of loss as he sat and watched his grandparents being lowered into the ground, his grandfathers medal collection on his lap.
The Push to Destiny...or Oblivion
Jason was in his room, it was not large, but not particularly small, it fit his double bed, desk and TV, accompanied by a wardrobe, that was all he needed. Several Batman comics were scattered across his bed, he sat by his desk, laptop upon it he was writing away on one of his favourite websites, a place in which he could be whomever he wanted. He had a poster of Heath Ledgers Joker on his wall, as well as one of a hot babe called Michelle. He had music playing, it clashed with his sisters' who was in the opposite room. He was blasting some Asher Roth, yes he did like that kind of music, whilst Hannah and Hayley were listening to Miley Cyrus. He raised his volume, they raised theirs, he again raised his and they theirs, before he quietened his. He heard them laughing, right before he hooked up his big speakers, which he attained from David, before they backed down, don't mess with the older brother. Soon his victory was cut short by a screaming sob from their mother.
Jay rushed to his door where he was met by his sister Hannah, Hayley lay on her bed with earphones in listening to her Ipod (now they lost there music battle), they stared at each other for a brief second, trying to see if one another knew anything, which was dumb as how could they, unless by a telepathic link, and as much as Jay wished was possible, he knew it to be untrue. Maybe one day science will prove him wrong. Suddenly it became a competition as to who could get to the stairs first, after an accidental elbow to Hannah's boob, he won. She was shortly behind, they both stopped their pushing as the cries of their mother could be heard, once again Jason and Hannah exchanged looks. Slowly they descended the stairs, upon coming to the last few steps they could see there mother kneeling on the floor, the door was wide open and outside a car was zooming off, she lay cradling in Iori's arms, her second eldest, who had returned for the weekend from his Film University. In her hand was a note, they didn't need any telling, they knew what it meant, and suddenly all sibling rivalry was gone and Hannah buried herself into Jason, pushing him back slightly, her tears streaming onto his t-shirt, he embraced her back, giving a one armed hug, he rested his head upon hers... David was dead.
Nice.
Please Log In to post.
Log in to comment