there is no virtue anywhere. batman. lady!batman/catwoman.
This is the story of a little a girl who was afraid of monsters. This is the story of a little girl who grew up and swallowed them whole.
-
The Bat and the Cat walk into a bar.
No. Wrong story. Wrong joke. This one starts on a building, not in it. A light that isn’t warm. Some call this justice. Others madness.
“I know who you are,” the Cat says. The syllables one long purr and what her tongue doesn’t caress, her hands do. The Bat doesn’t flinch from the claws at her throat.
“And what will you do with that?” They call this tone a growl but the Cat knows better. The dying hiss of a wounded animal and when you give this woman, this bat, this monster an inch she hangs herself with it.
Somewhere in the city a gun fires. Somewhere in the city a man dies. Somewhere in the city a joke gets told.
“Own you.”
-
Ms. Wayne (and they always call her this, call the sharp dresses and sharper heels Ms. Wayne because the woman in the tabloids is as much a symbol, as much a construct as the Bat) throws herself against the edges of what the world thinks of her and tears her angel wings to shreds and then she flies.
Selena watches and then she laughs.
Selena laughs because she is meant to.
Ms. Wayne is as clean and distant as death. Selena is something else entirely. Selena is life, messy and troublesome and uncomfortable. Selena wants to dig her hands in to the façade and tear past the masks and the blood and the legend and see what she finds there.
Selena wants. The Cat wants. Ms. Wayne, the Bat, the world doesn’t have enough to give.
(There will be no end to this.)
-
This is the story of a little girl who was afraid of monsters. This is the story of a little girl who grew up and became one.
-
The Cat and the Bat and a rooftop and the night stretches out forever because this is Gotham. This is the city where the sun never shines and there’s no such thing as warmth. And the Cat says, “I own you.”
The Bat doesn’t flinch. Why should she? There’s nothing to own.
This is so fantastic, Iva. Especially: This is the story of a little girl who was afraid of monsters. This is the story of a little girl who grew up and became one.
This is the story of a little a girl who was afraid of monsters. This is the story of a little girl who grew up and swallowed them whole.
-
The Bat and the Cat walk into a bar.
No. Wrong story. Wrong joke. This one starts on a building, not in it. A light that isn’t warm. Some call this justice. Others madness.
“I know who you are,” the Cat says. The syllables one long purr and what her tongue doesn’t caress, her hands do. The Bat doesn’t flinch from the claws at her throat.
“And what will you do with that?” They call this tone a growl but the Cat knows better. The dying hiss of a wounded animal and when you give this woman, this bat, this monster an inch she hangs herself with it.
Somewhere in the city a gun fires. Somewhere in the city a man dies. Somewhere in the city a joke gets told.
“Own you.”
-
Ms. Wayne (and they always call her this, call the sharp dresses and sharper heels Ms. Wayne because the woman in the tabloids is as much a symbol, as much a construct as the Bat) throws herself against the edges of what the world thinks of her and tears her angel wings to shreds and then she flies.
Selena watches and then she laughs.
Selena laughs because she is meant to.
Ms. Wayne is as clean and distant as death. Selena is something else entirely. Selena is life, messy and troublesome and uncomfortable. Selena wants to dig her hands in to the façade and tear past the masks and the blood and the legend and see what she finds there.
Selena wants. The Cat wants. Ms. Wayne, the Bat, the world doesn’t have enough to give.
(There will be no end to this.)
-
This is the story of a little girl who was afraid of monsters. This is the story of a little girl who grew up and became one.
-
The Cat and the Bat and a rooftop and the night stretches out forever because this is Gotham. This is the city where the sun never shines and there’s no such thing as warmth. And the Cat says, “I own you.”
The Bat doesn’t flinch. Why should she? There’s nothing to own.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment