Babs flashfic
Fandom: Birds of Prey/Bat Books
Characters: Barbara Gordon
Words: 215
Notes: I just... sorry. It's been in my head. And just... Babs. And angst. And me. ;_;
The answer was in her memory. The answer was her memory. Barbara didn’t forget things. Not even little things. She could remember sights
(the explosive flare of the muzzle, the blinding flash of the camera, the ceiling above her, every crack and stain),
sounds
(the momentarily deafening boom of the discharge, the tinkling of breaking glass, Dad’s voice, the click of the shutter, the whir of the film),
smells
(with every breath the burnt gunpowder in the air, the rich aroma of her spilled coffee, the sharpness of the iron of her own spilled blood),
tastes
(her throat parched but there was saltiness on her lips-sweat, tears, her running nose-and the tang of blood at the back of her throat)
and sensations
(the pain, the shock, his hands unbuttoning, undressing, the pain, the fear, the pain, so cold, so helpless, so cold... so cold…)
… and sensations.
Sometimes Barbara thought that if only she could… reach into her memory… if only she could… remember… and she would… touch them… her legs, her useless legs… if she could only remember how it felt-
And sometimes she almost could.
Sometimes she could almost feel…
Then she would remember she didn’t. Not anymore.
The answer was in her memory along with the realities she couldn't forget.
Characters: Barbara Gordon
Words: 215
Notes: I just... sorry. It's been in my head. And just... Babs. And angst. And me. ;_;
The answer was in her memory. The answer was her memory. Barbara didn’t forget things. Not even little things. She could remember sights
(the explosive flare of the muzzle, the blinding flash of the camera, the ceiling above her, every crack and stain),
sounds
(the momentarily deafening boom of the discharge, the tinkling of breaking glass, Dad’s voice, the click of the shutter, the whir of the film),
smells
(with every breath the burnt gunpowder in the air, the rich aroma of her spilled coffee, the sharpness of the iron of her own spilled blood),
tastes
(her throat parched but there was saltiness on her lips-sweat, tears, her running nose-and the tang of blood at the back of her throat)
and sensations
(the pain, the shock, his hands unbuttoning, undressing, the pain, the fear, the pain, so cold, so helpless, so cold... so cold…)
… and sensations.
Sometimes Barbara thought that if only she could… reach into her memory… if only she could… remember… and she would… touch them… her legs, her useless legs… if she could only remember how it felt-
And sometimes she almost could.
Sometimes she could almost feel…
Then she would remember she didn’t. Not anymore.
The answer was in her memory along with the realities she couldn't forget.