There is no such thing as a natural death. Just very good murderers.

I got the call that would change my life forever on my 18th birthday.

I was standing in front of the frozen vegetables aisle, contemplating paying an extra dollar for a branded bag of peas, carrots and corn. Do I protect our local farmers, or sell out, and buy the store brand version? Two years later, I would be gripping a local farmers calves as I force fed him through a wood chipper…so in hindsight it wasn’t the momentous occasion my 18 year old self deemed at the time. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I was standing in front of the frozen vegetable aisle when my father called. My father who I had not seen or heard from in ten years.

An hour later, I was seated next to him in a grey Toyota Camry, holding two cappuccinos. He was parked at the end of a cul-de-sac two roads down from my house. We sat in silence, observing an elderly man mowing his lawn. Riveting.

Every time I try to speak, he holds up his hand to silence me, then gestures towards the old man.

As the sun began to beat down on my forehead, teasing my brain into a migraine, I began to contemplate my father’s potential insanity. Then something bizarre occurs.

The man, who is doing his penultimate lap of the lawn, slows and comes to a shuddering stop. His gaze is fixed ten metres to his right, on a man who has just turned into the cul-de-sac, a menacing looking Rottweiler, lumbering forward on his leash. The old man seems spooked.

“Mr. Hewitt and his sister were attacked by their neighbour’s Rottweiller when he was seven.” My father stated evenly, his eyes fixed on Mr. Hewitt.

“He got away with a tiny scar over his left eyebrow. His sister wasn’t so lucky. She was mauled into something unrecognizable…if it wasn’t her, it would be him.” He says with finality.

Mr. Hewitt starts pushing his lawnmower forward again, quicker this time, he’s looking to finish his last stretch of lawn before the man and his Rottweiller draw too close to his house.

“I think he’ll be alright, looks like he’ll head in before they get too close.” I reassured my father (maybe Mr. Hewitt was an old buddy of his, and we were watching out for him?).

“Oh we’re counting on it.” he muttered.

My heart rate switches to a brisker tempo (maybe not.).

Before I could question him further, I witness Mr. Hewitt cut his final morsel of lawn. My heart takes a momentary breather. He has ample distance between himself and the Rotweiller to get to his front door four times over before they draw level. Mr. Hewitt seems to think so too, as he breathes a visible sigh of relief, changing course to his front door. He takes two more steps before jolting to a halt again. I follow his gaze to the front door, and my blood turns to ice.

Standing on his porch is another man, holding an even more beastly Rottweiller on a leash. It’s vicious teeth bared at the old man, thick, hot saliva oozing from its tar-like mouth onto the wooden floorboards. There is murder in its eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” I grabbed my dads forearm, spilling my cappucino on thlike a frightened child. Searching his face for answers. His gaze never leaves Mr. Hewitt.

“We’re here to help.” He replies.

“Well drive!” I exclaimed. “Fucking, lets get him!”

“No. We’re here in the unlikely event that he makes it past his front lawn for help.” He said in an annoyed tone, like he was scolding me for asking an infantile question. He finally turns to me, simultaneously reaching for a button next to the steering wheel of his car.

Click.

The car doors lock.

“Watch.” He mutters.

I wish I could tell you I fought him. I wish I could tell you that I slammed his head on the wheel, and unlocked the doors. I wish I could tell you I ran up to Mr. Hewitts front porch, and grabbed the poor old man by his arm and dragged him to safety. I wish I was noble, courageous, and righteous. I wish a lot of things. But it wasn’t to be.

Ten years ago, I sat frozen in my fathers grey Toyoto Camry, and watched as an old man faced up to his worst nightmare, defenseless and afraid. I watched as the dogs drew closer. I watched as he clutched his left arm, and let out a soul crushing whimper. I watched as he took the last two steps of his life, before crumpling onto his meticulously cut lawn. I watched Mr. Hewitt die. No. I watched Mr. Hewitt’s murder.

And I did nothing.

We sat in silence for another five minutes, watching as the men walked the Rottweiler’s casually down the road and turned away from the cul-de-sac. My father then turned the keys into ignition. The Camry’s engine roared dully to life. He turned to face me.

“You have a big decision to make son.”

Fuck you dad.

TBC.

You’re in prison for your own murder.

“Sliced the femoral artery, before caving your skull in with an encyclopedia…what’s that, some kind of ironic statement?”

The fluorescent lights flickered dully over Sargent Mulby’s bear like frame. He spoke at a volume barely louder than a whisper, but his tone was steadier than a surgeon’s hands. There was an authority about him that forced his words into your ears, whether or not you wanted to hear them.

I remained seated on my bed, turning my head slightly to my right to face him. His shadow planted thickly over my already cramped cell’s floor, leaving only ample room for the shadows of the steel bars containing me. His face was not discernible. Just the great silhouette of the beast.

I could tell he was baffled by what he had seen, perhaps even disturbed. He was dying to get the truth out of me, but wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of knowing. A true professional. I like that.

When you have seen yourself. I mean truly seen yourself, to the extent I have. It is the subtle changes that screams louder than the obvious. You begin to notice the stillness of one’s form. The lack of natural movement that flows from a man at ease. His voice was steady, but his composure was an iceberg. Daunting, and immovable…but it would melt in time. He is water, and I am the sun.

“Are you an artist, Mr. Doe?”

Mulby’s tone grew sharper. He was still in the realm of patience, but barely. I must indulge him.

“My name is Peter De Alwis.” I clarified.

“Peter De Alwis, was murdered today between the hours of two, and three am. I don’t know who the fuck you are.”

The words now pour of his mouth, less composed, but far truer. A hint of excitement.

“I am Peter De Alwis, but not as you know him.” I replied.

“And how do I know him?” Mulby questioned, the traces of a sneer rumbling to be let loose.

“You knew of Peter De Alwis. The ruler, the conqueror, the eternal king. You have heard of his conquests, his self proclaimed immortality, and divine right of power. You have witnessed his furious hand of justice, his slaying of the innocent, and his silencing of the brave.

But now he has been conquered. The king is no longer eternal, his right no longer divine. The De Alwis line is no more.

So really…you now know nothing Mr. Mulby.”

You wake up in an empty hospital with an envelope taped to your chest, you read the letter inside. “If you’re reading this, that means you have awoken. Inside the envelope is a syringe with a small dose of a chemical that will kill you in seconds without pain, use it. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.”

My eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by harsh fluorescent lighting. I sat up quickly, blinking my eyes rapidly to shake off the bleariness. My surroundings slowly took shape in front of me.

I was in a private hospital room, with the door shut. It was in absolute chaos. Tables and chairs had been flipped over. Medicine, and other medical paraphernalia scattered across the floor. The walls were dirty; smeared in questionable gunk.

How long had I been asleep?

I swivelled off my bed, and let my feet touch the floor. Gripping the bed tightly to steady myself, I slowly rose till I was standing.

THUNK

Something fell off my chest, and on to the floor. An envelope. Perhaps a clue as to my predicament? I bent down and picked it up in a hurry. It was light, but clunky. I tore open the seal and spilled the contents on to the hospital bed: A letter, a syringe, and a small dose of something.

Hastily opening the letter, I read on.

“If you’re reading this, that means you have awoken. Inside the envelope is a syringe with a small dose of a chemical that will kill you in seconds without pain, use it. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.”

My heart plummeted to my stomach. What the actual fuck?

I felt my senses suddenly come alive, heightened and more acute now that I was in a state of fear. I reexamined my surroundings. The gunk on the wall…it wasn’t just gunk, it was writing. I walked over to the closest words I could find.

GIVE UP.

I took a few steps back. Snapping my head to the left, I saw another writing.

DESERTER.

Small beads of sweat starting forming above my brow, and on my temples. Was I being punished?

I couldn’t remember anything. One thing I knew for certain though; there was no way I was going to kill myself. Whoever was responsible for this is simply going to have to try harder.

I edged forward towards the door, more writing on the wall became clearer as I neared my exit.

LET US ALL DOWN.

I kept moving forward.The goosebumps on my boding multiplying with every step. The biggest writing in the room was reserved for the door, that I now stood in front of.

HURT YOU.

This final writing stopped me cold. The other writings were accusations, this was a threat. Should I step outside the door? Was there something worse than death waiting for me on the outside?

I was now sweating profusely. The decision did not seem so simply anymore. I closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths. I would not die on someone else’s whim, this was my fate.

My eyes fluttered open again. This time determined, I turned the handle on the door and whipped it open. There was a corridor before me, and a man dead-centre with ginger hair. He had his back facing me.

I took a single step out the door. All the lights in the corridor suddenly flashed on. The red headed man turned on his heel to face me.

…

…

…

BUH-DUM DUH-DUM DUH-DUH-DUH-DUM

“NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP.

NEVER GONNA LET YOU DOWN.

NEVER GONNA RUN AROUND, AND DESERT YOU.

NEVER GONNA MAKE YOU CRY.

NEVER GONNA SAYYYY GOODBYE.

NEVER GONNA TELL A LIE, AND HURT YOU.”

My blood curdling scream echoed through the hallways for all eternity.

Someone who looks identical shows up at your door one morning with a gun. “Give me back my life, Clone”

“Give me back my life clone.” he sneered as he aimed the gun at my chest, and fired point blank.

CRASH

I heard my great aunt Thelma’s vase shatter behind me. By some stroke of luck his gun had misfired.

My military training kicked in as I landed a sick ass heel spin square to his chest. His military armour absorbed most of the impact, but it gave me enough time to reach under my side table and pull out my own weapon.

“Clone…unknown.” I muttered under my breath as I fired one off between his eyes.

THUD

Instead of seeing his body crumple before me, a charcoal squirrel fell out of the magnolia bushes behind him. Damn. I could have sworn I had him dead in my sights.

My assailant, tried to fire another shot off but his gun jammed. He threw down his weapon, and ran. I darted to my feet and followed him in to the woods. After five minutes of running in circles, I cornered him near a large oak tree.

“There’s nowhere and no one to run to buddy. You got no friends here, it’s just me, you and the birds.” I yelled at him.

“Shut up clone! Somehow I don’t think you’ll be the one who’ll be getting out of here alive.” he yelled back.

“How do you figure that?”

“A little birdy told me.” he whispered.

That’s when I saw he had one hand behind his back. In a blink of an eye he had pulled out a sidearm and fired two rounds at my moneymaker.

PUH-TINGGG-SQUUAAAWK-THUDD

Somehow the projectiles had veered to the left, ricocheted off a telephone pole, and knocked off a pigeons head.

It took me ten seconds to recover. The blast had come nowhere close to hitting me, but I was still reeling from his sick burn.In my confusion he had made another dash for it.

As I watched him shrinking in to the horizon, I knelt down on one knee like a badass counterterrorist. I had one shot before he was out of range, I had to make it count.

I lined him up, and decided against making a pun as he would not be able to hear it.

Fuck it.

“I guess this clone…ain’t coming home.” I drawled knowingly, as I took the shot.

BANG

Everything went black.

…

…

…

My eyes fluttered open to harsh fluorescent lights, and shadowy figures looming above me.

“Son…are you okay?” one of them said.

“Where am I?”

“You’re aboard the medical wing of the death star private. Your gun exploded when you took a shot at one of our escapees from the psychiatric ward. Poor fella was suffering from massive PTSD, he couldn’t remember you guys were all clones.” The doctor explained.

Batman is sent in to an alternate reality during a foray with the Justice League. He discovers a reality where he all but erased crime in Gotham via simply investing in education and welfare.

AB = Alternate Batman/Bruce Wayne; B = Batman

I stepped off the landing pad as it began to cart away the bat mobile into storage. My entrance was far less covert than a week before, but I doubted who I was dealing with back then, now I was not so sure…

Bruce was standing in front of the projected screen of his bat computer. Illuminated in place of the mugshots, forensics, and crime scene photos that usually decorated my own back wall, was a letter head from the UN detailing the current welfare systems in place in Uganda.

If this was an act, Bruce was certainly playing his role to a fault; his shoulders were relaxed, and his posture casual. This was not the demeanour of a guilty man.

I slowed my pace as I took my last few steps towards him. Bruce did not turn from the screen. Only the slightest, turn of his head showed that he was aware of my presence.

AB: Your preliminary analysis?

B: Complete.

AB: Your findings?

B: Inconclusive.

AB: Meaning?

B: Meaning this was a preliminary analysis – only the beginning.

AB: …but you doubt your initial incredulity.

I paused before I delivered an answer I was not yet ready to give him.

B: …otherwise I would not have come.

He slowly turned his eyes away from the screen and finally turned to face me.

AB: Because you have no leads for further analysis.

B: Not at the present time.

AB: Do you need more time?

B: I trust the league has done a thorough examination. I am fairly certain there is one of two scenarios at play here. And both could potentially cripple me.

AB: Yet you still came.

B: The truth is the only thing that is important. Whatever comes afterward is my trial to endure.

A shadow of emotion flickered across his face for the briefest of moments. At first it looked like sadness, but no…it was more refined than that. It was pity. Bruce pitied me.

His face adjusted back to it’s neutral state before responding.

AB: Very poetic…and what might these two scenarios be?

B: That you have been successful in Gotham’s resurrection by hanging up the cowl. That you have done with policy what I sought to do with aggression. That you are not a liar.

AB: And the second scenario?

B: The second does not matter for now. It is an eventuality. What matters is the how of the first scenario…are you willing to explain?

AB: I am, Bruce.

B: Please, don’t call me Bruce. In this scenario, you are the true Wayne, deserving of my father’s name and legacy. I am merely Batman.

And again the look of pity flickered – He agreed with me, yet he was not satisfied by this truth. How infuriating.

AB: Very well, Batman. All I ask is that you remove the finality from your assumptions, I’m not sure what the second scenario is, but the first does not need to be bleak.

That did not warrant a response.

AB: I am going to assume the fact that you are here means you have come to many conclusions about my world that runs parallel to yours. It is the striking similarities in my world that beckons you to question whether it is indeed only my method that is the independent variable in this sandbox. So let’s start with the broad strokes.

Our enemies, our foes. The Joker, Bane, The Riddler, to name a few. All psychopaths. Undiagnosable and irredeemable. Singularities wreaking havoc and mayhem. Every time I rebuilt Gotham, they would bring it down twice fold. I could not kill them, lest my code collapse upon itself. Yet I could never remove them from the sandbox. I believed myself to be a symbol, but in reality I was just a presence, watching over my city, mitigating the damage they caused….yet the damage remained inevitable.

It took the murder of a young boys parent’s much like my own, on a particularly unforgiving night in Gotham to hammer home the depth of my failure. History continued to repeat itself, and I had failed my city.

It was in this particularly sober moment that I realised the fallacy of Batman was not in what he stood for, but from what he was born from. Tragedy, despair, anger and resentment. It was me versus Gotham’s criminal underbelly, not Gotham’s citizens rising up for themselves – how was anything to change? Rather than using the strengths and hope in Gotham that I claimed to fight for, I used it’s darkness against itself. I was merely the disciple that drew his sword when faced with the Roman guard. My violence begot violence.

I eliminated the presence of batman from Gotham. He vanished without a trace, Gotham got worse, but I had faith that without this catalyst for violence, at least my portion of darkness would be vanquished. My faith was rewarded. Within half a year the Joker had disappeared without a trace. It seems his existence depending purely on the bat. It sometimes feels like he was a figment of my imagination…that he never really existed.

In the time after Batman’s retirement, I turned my interests to the roots of Gotham’s problems. These roots were cancerous, and toxic, but they were not immune to treatment. With the help of Alfred I was able to outline a 15 year strategy to begin the healing process.

To give you the short story, we simply focussed on small reform in public education and welfare initially by bankrolling the corrupt politicians – the underworld did not care as they were not suffering financially. Five to six years of a solid education system brought out numerous candidates to take the place of the politicians we had bank rolled. It was not easy, but with the justice league we had more than enough muscle to keep away the criminal underbelly as these brave citizens democratically over threw the entirety of Gotham’s corrupt leaders, and formed new government. What came after was inevitable natural progress. Gotham was no longer a safe environment for corruption to be sustained, so the remaining crooks left for greener pastures in more questionable states. Good reform boomed exponentially over time, and within 13 years I felt our mission was complete.

Gotham is now a symbol of hope to other state’s and countries. If the worst of the worst can change through the will of it’s people, then there is hope for us all. Gotham is the true symbol of justice, not Batman.

TBC

A person finds themself in a horror movie, and has to fight the increasingly strong urge to make dumb decisions.

The headlights only illuminated a few lonely patches of highway in front of us as I squinted ahead. Diane slumped lower into the passenger seat next to me, sighing heavily. You could say our date was going according to plan.

You see, I heard Brett Rafter and the rest of the La Crosse team were hosting a sick party out in the woods tonight, and all the cool kids would be there.

I wasn’t necessarily invited, but I remained optimistic that this was more of a “national treasure” type mission, where figuring out where in the woods the party was endowed me with numerous props, and an obvious free pass – that’s how these things work right?

Yea…that would score me much needed points with Diane. Diane who was already 20,000 leagues out of my league. Yes, this would definitely impress. I could get access into the football teams inner circle, and Diane’s “inner circle” if you know what I mean, HA!

This is why I’m single.

Anyway that was the plan. Forty minutes of directionless driving later and I was already giving up hope. Diane’s many disappointing grunts and sighs were now being drowned out by an annoying need for me to remember the song that had been stuck in my head since the start of today. I turned the radio up hoping to get some inspiration for my new mission.

“And now for an emergency news broadcast with Susan Small.”

Great.

“Good evening. Citizens are warned of disturbing activity reported just outside of Sinister Creek. Police have alerted that high profile killer Geoffrey “the mincer” Slarmuh, who was being held in witness protection in Sinister for his testimony on his partner, who is still at large thus far, is now on the loose himself…”

Diane sat up straighter in her seat at this. Good. maybe this would buy me another 15-20 minutes to find the party before she suggested the inevitable turn back.

“…Slarmuh is notorious for his gruesome murders, with his victims of choice being high school students. Those he blames for his current disposition, having been bullied during his teenage years. His story came to national attention when the horrifying details of his last murder scene were released to the public…”

I felt an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach. Maybe being out at this time of night wasn’t the best idea. As the newscaster unfurled the gruesome details of how “the mincer” had put his last victim through a meat grinder, out in the woods no less, I felt an unwanted chill creep down my spine.

“…police have called a curfew, and advised all citizens to remain indoors tonight. They are confident they will be able to apprehend “the mincer”, though his attempt to shake them off has-“

SHAKE IT OFF! SHAKE IT OFF! I yelled in delight as Diane gasped. It was that goddamn Taylor Swift song after all. I giggled with pride – that’s one mission down for tonight. I glanced at Diane.

“Sorry I just had that song stuck in my head all da…Diane?”

Her face was contorted in fear, her colour whiter that an insane clown posse’s…posse?

“ASELA IT’S HIM, LOOK OUT!”

My eyes darted back on the road just in time to see a disheveled and bloody man caught in my headlights. I swerved hard to the right to avoid him, but immediately tried to swerve back left to hit him (just in case he was the killer). This daring stunt flipped the car over five times, before a soft cushioning landing on a telephone pole broke our momentum.

Everything went black.

TBC

You are an agent of Satan. For every soul you lead to damnation, you get one years’ reprieve from your own torment. Tell about a day in your life.

BRRIIIINGGGGG

I let the alarm ring for an irritably long 5 seconds as I buried my head deeper into my pillow. I refuse to open my eyes.

“Another day in paradise.”

That isn’t some hip, ironic statement to start my day by the way. This is literally day 179 of paradise…relative to what is to come anyway. You see, I’m a literal “dead man walking” on your earth. I lived a rather sinful life, and was rewarded with a one way ticket to hell after my death.

If you’re wondering what I did to get there; it was nothing too fancy by your standards. I was not a serial killer, mass murderer or (gasp) terrorist. No, mine was a very standard corporate fraud/ponzi scheme type gig. I got caught but, I served a very cushy sentence, and all was well for the remainder of my natural life…or so I thought.

Turns out, St. Peter doesn’t give a shit what TMZ or CNN says are the worst crimes. All the luxuries of social standing, and favours owed from big shots simply did not translate to the big man. I was judged purely on the live’s I affected on earth, and I gotta say, I’ve racked up the numbers to make some of the worst of the sociopaths blush.

“8326 years, 3 months, 21 days, 35 minutes and 23 seconds of torment.”

That was the sentence passed before the hammer fell down. That number isn’t arbitrary by the way. That is the precise amount of unhappiness (or hardship) in terms of time that I have directly inflicted on the people of earth as a result of my actions. If you’re also wondering about the whole “eternal damnation” thing being debunked don’t worry, they explained that to me too. That’s the one thing I like about this realm, they aren’t vague about these things, like filling the right forms out at the DMV, or “terms and conditions” for your electronics. They want you to know exactly how much of a piece of shit you are before you face what is to come. You really have no argument for why you shouldn’t be there.

As to the other “big” questions I should have asked God, like why were we on earth in the first place, who came before you, and when is the CDC going to finally classify “Bieber fever” more deadly than ebola? I don’t get the luxury of asking those questions (on account of how large of a turd I am). I can get to that after my sentence.

TBC