Bury my body, part I
Its been four days since Travis slept. Two and a half since he's eaten.
He doesn't need it, not with the ring. And it would be a waste of time. First there was the cockroaches, then Sinestro, then cleanup of the cockroaches, which just reminded him - the poor neighborhoods always take it the worst. So he had to focus there, to try and leave things better than they were before the roaches and all.
Besides, he can't sleep these days. A catnap here and there, but even at Bea's, it was little use. Since leaving Tara, he's been driven, just like before, to always do something.
Since leaving Tara... he wishes he could make that right somehow. He messed up, he knows it. If he could just pretend this hadn't happened, she'd talk him down out of his thoughtrushes, put some music on, and he could actually sleep through a night. But that was then, and he has no idea how to fix it.
Which makes everything else harder to accept. The ring has the logs of his activities - how much gang violence stopped. How many muggings, attempted rapes, break ins, hold ups... how many soup kitchens he transported supplies for to save costs and get them going, how many roach-infested tenements where he exterminated the vermin, and ring-fixed all the plumbing and leaky roofs. He visited the families with record of children having died of treatable diseases or exposure... had they had insurance, or money for the bills. Its one thing after another, trying to let them know someone cares... trying to fix things, trying to make things right... trying to will things to be right.
That's what they told him about the ring. With a strong enough will, you can do anything. So he wills himself to keep going, to keep fixing, to /do/ something.
And each time, he then hears the sounds of the domestic violence. Registers the signs of heroin and alcohol. And this last time, he heard the gunshots.
He used to fall alseep between a dumpster and a building, because some folks said bullets wouldn't go through the dumpster. The smell was awful, but that slight reassurance was the only way he could make his mind stop racing, putting faces to the sounds, imagining how ugly the world had to look. He wasn't afraid... in a way, from what others have said, that would have been nice. Then safety might have reassured him, instead of muffling the sounds, as he reminded himself over and over that there was nothing he could do to make it better.
And now he can. Now he can phase in among the gang bangers who just shot a teenager... 14, maybe 15, the ring estimates, as he's blocking the bullets so they won't ricochet. He does his belt to stop the bleeding while knocking out one. "Never again." he hears himself say as the kid, maybe his own age, goes down. "No more." he follows with, putting this one down with a punch, while he tries to phase the bullet out of the kid's kidney. "Stay fixed!" this time its a shout as he drops a ganger with a telekinetic throw into a wall, while trying to stop internal bleeding, delicately trying to stitch together a kidney long enough that it'll hold to the hospital. "Stay fixed!" he's yelling, as the next to last goes down against the hood of their car, while he tries to scan a million race's medical records for emergency procedures the ring can pull off.
Then the last goes down, just as he feels the organ give, the bleeding out just too much. Staring at a kid who will never have a chance now, who could have easily been him, Travis drops to his knees in the alleyway, already hearing a fight down the street, two kids beating up another in a schoolyard, what sounds like a purse snatching... and then, in the distance, another gunshot.
Kneeling over a lifeless body, all he can manage is "Why won't you stay fixed?" quietly.
He doesn't need it, not with the ring. And it would be a waste of time. First there was the cockroaches, then Sinestro, then cleanup of the cockroaches, which just reminded him - the poor neighborhoods always take it the worst. So he had to focus there, to try and leave things better than they were before the roaches and all.
Besides, he can't sleep these days. A catnap here and there, but even at Bea's, it was little use. Since leaving Tara, he's been driven, just like before, to always do something.
Since leaving Tara... he wishes he could make that right somehow. He messed up, he knows it. If he could just pretend this hadn't happened, she'd talk him down out of his thoughtrushes, put some music on, and he could actually sleep through a night. But that was then, and he has no idea how to fix it.
Which makes everything else harder to accept. The ring has the logs of his activities - how much gang violence stopped. How many muggings, attempted rapes, break ins, hold ups... how many soup kitchens he transported supplies for to save costs and get them going, how many roach-infested tenements where he exterminated the vermin, and ring-fixed all the plumbing and leaky roofs. He visited the families with record of children having died of treatable diseases or exposure... had they had insurance, or money for the bills. Its one thing after another, trying to let them know someone cares... trying to fix things, trying to make things right... trying to will things to be right.
That's what they told him about the ring. With a strong enough will, you can do anything. So he wills himself to keep going, to keep fixing, to /do/ something.
And each time, he then hears the sounds of the domestic violence. Registers the signs of heroin and alcohol. And this last time, he heard the gunshots.
He used to fall alseep between a dumpster and a building, because some folks said bullets wouldn't go through the dumpster. The smell was awful, but that slight reassurance was the only way he could make his mind stop racing, putting faces to the sounds, imagining how ugly the world had to look. He wasn't afraid... in a way, from what others have said, that would have been nice. Then safety might have reassured him, instead of muffling the sounds, as he reminded himself over and over that there was nothing he could do to make it better.
And now he can. Now he can phase in among the gang bangers who just shot a teenager... 14, maybe 15, the ring estimates, as he's blocking the bullets so they won't ricochet. He does his belt to stop the bleeding while knocking out one. "Never again." he hears himself say as the kid, maybe his own age, goes down. "No more." he follows with, putting this one down with a punch, while he tries to phase the bullet out of the kid's kidney. "Stay fixed!" this time its a shout as he drops a ganger with a telekinetic throw into a wall, while trying to stop internal bleeding, delicately trying to stitch together a kidney long enough that it'll hold to the hospital. "Stay fixed!" he's yelling, as the next to last goes down against the hood of their car, while he tries to scan a million race's medical records for emergency procedures the ring can pull off.
Then the last goes down, just as he feels the organ give, the bleeding out just too much. Staring at a kid who will never have a chance now, who could have easily been him, Travis drops to his knees in the alleyway, already hearing a fight down the street, two kids beating up another in a schoolyard, what sounds like a purse snatching... and then, in the distance, another gunshot.
Kneeling over a lifeless body, all he can manage is "Why won't you stay fixed?" quietly.