Those Who Fall Down the Rabbit Hole | Batjokes |

Part 4

One of Bruce's most prevalent memories is playing the piano. Don't get him wrong, he's not the musical type in any stretch of the imagination, for a matter of fact, he hasn't touched a piano in years. But after his parents died, the number of tutors coming in and out of the manor seemed to have increased, what now Bruce is sure was a way of Alfred to keep him busy, and piano lessons had been in the packet of classes that came and went.

And yes, Bruce might not be the musical type, but a kid with a lot of time to spare and a mind to hide from can get quite good at something if he keeps doing it religiously. First he merely did it as just another class among all the others, did it because it was just another thing to do. The mansion was too big, too quiet, his mind too loud. It was just something else to do. Another way to forget, although he never really did.

But then it became a little more, and the hours spent playing during lessons extended to his own personal time. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night, perhaps hands still shaky and the sour after taste of a nightmare still lingering in his being, and walking to the large room where an oak wood piano waited for him. He remembers walking in the dark hallways of the mansion unbidden, unafraid, as no nine year old should be. He remembers sitting on the wooden bench and playing melodies he doesn't even recall.

He didn't love it. He didn't like it. He didn't do it because he enjoyed it. It was more than that, he did it because he needed it. That's the only way he can explain it. He didn't like playing the piano.

There had been a metronome.

And Bruce would loose himself in the ticks.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

It wasn't about playing, it was about that sound.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

About the trance inducing, simple sound that would take him nowhere at all and everywhere at once.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

It was about rearranging utter chaos and giving it meaning.

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

Everything fell into place.

Time stood still.

It was never about the piano. So maybe his memories are faulty. The music had been a background noise, an addition to the main course.

It was about the ticks.

He'd needed it at the time— that stillness that allowed him to see through his mind and not be scared of what was in there. That moment in which nonsense made sense. In which he just was, and that was okay.

That was not the only occasion though, time had stood still in other moments for Bruce. Before his parents had died, when his mind wasn't such a confusing place.

When a limping squirrel had stumbled upon his path and sweet curiosity had just won over any other thought. When that curiosity had been satisfied and the squirrel didn't breath anymore. Time had stood still.