Reflections
Another scar, just under his chin, a little one. "Her name was Lyra," he had told the press when it happened, but the source was a punch from one of Joker's thugs.
Another ache, between two ribs, a bigger one. "Parasailing in the Caribbean," he had told the press when it happened, but the source was Ra's al-Ghul, in a fight that had nearly killed him. This particular blow missed his heart by millimeters; its companion, two inches away, sealed a hole in his lung. Rocks caused them, he had blithely lied.
Another pucker of flesh on his left bicep from a bullet wound that never got sutured. A new rough patch of skin on his back from a near-miss bullet six weeks ago while fighting some of Penguin's men. A fresh crown on a back tooth chipped when he fell off a three-story building in a fight with Killer Croc.
Bruce ties a towel around his waist and turns away from the mirror so he can shave, the annual accounting of new scars abandoned. Every year there are more, every year he cares less, and he had lost count anyways.
He'll spend tonight in the Batsuit. Fitting to celebrate his birth with the one thing that is slowly killing him.
Another ache, between two ribs, a bigger one. "Parasailing in the Caribbean," he had told the press when it happened, but the source was Ra's al-Ghul, in a fight that had nearly killed him. This particular blow missed his heart by millimeters; its companion, two inches away, sealed a hole in his lung. Rocks caused them, he had blithely lied.
Another pucker of flesh on his left bicep from a bullet wound that never got sutured. A new rough patch of skin on his back from a near-miss bullet six weeks ago while fighting some of Penguin's men. A fresh crown on a back tooth chipped when he fell off a three-story building in a fight with Killer Croc.
Bruce ties a towel around his waist and turns away from the mirror so he can shave, the annual accounting of new scars abandoned. Every year there are more, every year he cares less, and he had lost count anyways.
He'll spend tonight in the Batsuit. Fitting to celebrate his birth with the one thing that is slowly killing him.