BirdFlash

thinking of suicide

Gotham City,

December 16, 09:52 p.m. EDT}

Robin was cold. It was December, and a typical Gotham Friday night: dark and grimy, with the promise of rain. He let out a deep sigh, his warm breath clouding the frosty air momentarily. He clutched at the metal railing before him, the only thing separating him from the empty darkness that surrounded him. Down below, he could hear the low din of traffic as people rushed to and fro in their cars, speeding through Gotham's dark streets to the safety of their homes. They drove fast, the black wheels slicing through puddles of murky water that splashed up to stain the pavement. Soon they would all be tucked up in bed before a warm fire, content with the knowledge that tomorrow they could sleep in. 

Then night would fall, like it did at the end of every day. Gotham's streets would become infested with crime, disease, and darkness. Shadows would slip into darker shadows; the quiet hush of secretive voices would be the only sound to hear. They would all look around in fear, afraid the Dark Knight would step out of the shadows any minute, along with his nimble protégé, coming to destroy their unlawful plans before they had a chance to execute them… 

The wind whipped around him, blowing his black hair into his face. It whistled sharply as it rounded the corner of Wayne Tower- a piecing, oddly unsettling sound. His fingers hurt; he was gripping the railing so hard. It took a huge effort of will to force himself to relax his hold. With the natural grace of an acrobat, he scaled the balustrade and perched on top of it. 

A new sound came to his ears then; the patter of rain. It shouldn't be surprising. This was Gotham. This was also… the day. It would only be fitting that today, right now of all times, it decided to rain. He didn't move, even when the water ran in rivulets down his hair, his cheeks, his nose, before dripping off his chin to disappear in the material of his cape. Like tears. Cold tears. But he wouldn't cry. He promised himself he wouldn't cry today. 

The wind tugged at him again, yanking at his body. It wanted to claim him, to whisk him away. It promised him empty promises, and he closed his ears to its shrieking voice. His cape billowed out beside him, starting to get heavy with water. Someone was bound to notice him… Why was his cape so yellow? He didn't want anyone to notice him. He didn't want to make a scene. 

He looked down at the ground. Seventy-eight floors separated him from the dull gray pavement. He wondered how many seconds it would take for his body to fall seventy-eight floors down. Probably less time the longer he waited and the more water-heavy his cape became. It would weigh him down; pull him quicker to his death. His vision wavered for a moment. He imagined he could see bright spotlights on him, illuminating their act. The cold metal below his boots became the rough wood of the trapeze bar. The whistle of the rain, the snap of a rope. The faces of the audience blurred together as tears clouded his vision. Down below… so far down… the bodies of his parents, broken, falling, fallen… 

Someone had noticed him. Some irrelevant passerby was pointing up at him from the pavement. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he didn't need to. It wasn't important. He smiled grimly. How fitting this all was, how ironic. Just like his parents before him, so he too would have an audience when he fell. 

Wally had told him once that he could fly. He told him that when Robin fought, when he flipped and spun and dove down from sky-high heights, whipping out his grappling hook at the last possible minute, it looked like he could fly. 

"I won't fly today, Wally…" Robin whispered out loud, though there was no one but the mocking rain to hear him. The wind wrenched his words away the minute they left his mouth. No, today he would fall. Just like his parents. Today he would fall, and there wouldn't be a net to catch him.