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rocknloadTitle: your streets so neat and clean
Author: Brittany
Fandom: Batman (The Dark Knight)
Rating: R
Words: ~1000
Summary: Do you know what a Glasgow smile is?
Author’s Notes: I have absolutely zero familiarity with the comic universe. None. I’m not even a big fan of the movies and I doubt I’m going to post this anywhere but here. I’m in a mood, I guess. This is violent and weird and nothing anything like what I usually write.
*
the man grins around an american express card, grinning like a dog with its teeth bared, grinning so hard that spit leaks out of his taut lips and onto the ground in slow, heavy drips that are thick with snot and tears and everything else that comes out of a face that’s so very human and so terribly afraid. wrong, not the face that’s scared, the owner is but it’s the face that’s going to pay. the face is going to get what it’s got coming.
“Are we having fun, yet?”
no response and that will not do, it will not do at all, and so skin splits. it splits along with a very nice, very fine shirtfront, white and detailed with thread in gold, white and details with a splash of red, white and suddenly more than that, patterned with crimson that spreads like the wings of a bloody butterfly—CAPILLARY ACTION—and no one screams.
everyone is much quieter.
“Are we having fun, yet?”
the man shudders hard and shakes his head.
“Well. We do want to have fun, don’t we?”
the man shudders harder and shakes his head and he’s trying to get that card out of his mouth, oh yes he is, but his courage left him so very long ago. back with the contents of his bladder. and his bowels. and, let’s be honest, sitting in his own filth isn’t going to make any man a braver one or a better one and so this particular specimen of everything his species could possibly aspire to be, he can’t quite shake his head with the courage he needs to do anything besides to demonstrate a very very clear NO.
“But I want to have fun. Don’t you care about what I want?”
because you should.
another NO.
“You don’t?”
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—oh, it means no PLEASE, oh please stop this right now, because my expensive suit is dirty and you knocked out half of my expensive smile and the only thing i can hear is the ticking of my expensive Rolex and it’s hammering like a telltale heart attack and no PLEASE i dearly do not want to die.
“Shh, shh, sorry, I didn’t understand.” no more tears, they’re wiped away along with the ones that come after. “Stop that, doing that, it never helped anyone.”
and the wails come from behind the wriggling stump where his tongue used to be, in a low hum, from the throat.
“I said stop that.”
nothing does.
blood patters onto the concrete like someone somewhere is taking a piss, and look what we have here, more skin torn with a flash of quicksilver in the night, and the cutting, it doesn’t sound a bit like cutting into a turkey or carving a steak. did you know? it sounds like opening a present on christmas day, tearing through those bright ribbons—SSSHHHHTCHK—and look what we have inside?
“Look at me.”
and he has to, because he is so terrified, he doesn’t dare think for himself, because if he did he’d have to think about how his life is going to play out, the rest of it, so short it’s like a commercial break to the REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING, a side show, a little slice—SLICE—of gotham life.
“Look at me.”
he does.
“Do you know how I got these scars?”
he looks and then he looks, he really looks. it’s the first time. he looks his head and then he shakes his head oh so slowly, he’s got the weight of the word on his brain, looks like, and he is dead—
HA
—dead serious.
and he’s said NO, again.
the laughter comes from absolutely everywhere, it bubbles up and spills into the street just like all that slick blood, it comes and comes and for a moment, for a really long moment there’s nothing else in the entire world but that laugh.
“You don’t! You don’t and do you know why, do you really know, do you know why that’s
so
FUNNY?”
no chance to answer because sorry, th-th-th-th-th-th-that’s all, folks, we’re all outta time.
the blade took his tongue and now it doesn’t take anything at all, it just changes what’s already been into what has to be, and it changes the world with a scream that could cleave open a normal feeling heart like a regular piñata, and there’s no harm in mixing metaphors, you know, you just have to say what you have to, do what you have to, all to make you point. and this point is sharp and it’s bloody and the pattering before now sounds like someone overturned a water glass and the water just keeps right on coming.
and all that’s left behind is a face that’ll never be serious again, he’s like humpty dumpty—the pieces are everywhere, they’ll never put him back together—and if he smiles any harder half his skull will just topple down up off the rest and there goes the neighborhood!
“Do you know how I got these scars?”
the world is right now.
“Neither do I.”
the world is silent right now.
it takes one more slice, one more quicksilver twist, and then the screaming starts again.
that ruined face, not a man’s face, not anymore, it rips itself along the fresh seams, it tugs at that jackal’s grin and it tears apart like so much pretty bloody tissue paper.
it leaves a mess.
*
Author: Brittany
Fandom: Batman (The Dark Knight)
Rating: R
Words: ~1000
Summary: Do you know what a Glasgow smile is?
Author’s Notes: I have absolutely zero familiarity with the comic universe. None. I’m not even a big fan of the movies and I doubt I’m going to post this anywhere but here. I’m in a mood, I guess. This is violent and weird and nothing anything like what I usually write.
*
the man grins around an american express card, grinning like a dog with its teeth bared, grinning so hard that spit leaks out of his taut lips and onto the ground in slow, heavy drips that are thick with snot and tears and everything else that comes out of a face that’s so very human and so terribly afraid. wrong, not the face that’s scared, the owner is but it’s the face that’s going to pay. the face is going to get what it’s got coming.
“Are we having fun, yet?”
no response and that will not do, it will not do at all, and so skin splits. it splits along with a very nice, very fine shirtfront, white and detailed with thread in gold, white and details with a splash of red, white and suddenly more than that, patterned with crimson that spreads like the wings of a bloody butterfly—CAPILLARY ACTION—and no one screams.
everyone is much quieter.
“Are we having fun, yet?”
the man shudders hard and shakes his head.
“Well. We do want to have fun, don’t we?”
the man shudders harder and shakes his head and he’s trying to get that card out of his mouth, oh yes he is, but his courage left him so very long ago. back with the contents of his bladder. and his bowels. and, let’s be honest, sitting in his own filth isn’t going to make any man a braver one or a better one and so this particular specimen of everything his species could possibly aspire to be, he can’t quite shake his head with the courage he needs to do anything besides to demonstrate a very very clear NO.
“But I want to have fun. Don’t you care about what I want?”
because you should.
another NO.
“You don’t?”
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—oh, it means no PLEASE, oh please stop this right now, because my expensive suit is dirty and you knocked out half of my expensive smile and the only thing i can hear is the ticking of my expensive Rolex and it’s hammering like a telltale heart attack and no PLEASE i dearly do not want to die.
“Shh, shh, sorry, I didn’t understand.” no more tears, they’re wiped away along with the ones that come after. “Stop that, doing that, it never helped anyone.”
and the wails come from behind the wriggling stump where his tongue used to be, in a low hum, from the throat.
“I said stop that.”
nothing does.
blood patters onto the concrete like someone somewhere is taking a piss, and look what we have here, more skin torn with a flash of quicksilver in the night, and the cutting, it doesn’t sound a bit like cutting into a turkey or carving a steak. did you know? it sounds like opening a present on christmas day, tearing through those bright ribbons—SSSHHHHTCHK—and look what we have inside?
“Look at me.”
and he has to, because he is so terrified, he doesn’t dare think for himself, because if he did he’d have to think about how his life is going to play out, the rest of it, so short it’s like a commercial break to the REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING, a side show, a little slice—SLICE—of gotham life.
“Look at me.”
he does.
“Do you know how I got these scars?”
he looks and then he looks, he really looks. it’s the first time. he looks his head and then he shakes his head oh so slowly, he’s got the weight of the word on his brain, looks like, and he is dead—
HA
—dead serious.
and he’s said NO, again.
the laughter comes from absolutely everywhere, it bubbles up and spills into the street just like all that slick blood, it comes and comes and for a moment, for a really long moment there’s nothing else in the entire world but that laugh.
“You don’t! You don’t and do you know why, do you really know, do you know why that’s
so
FUNNY?”
no chance to answer because sorry, th-th-th-th-th-th-that’s all, folks, we’re all outta time.
the blade took his tongue and now it doesn’t take anything at all, it just changes what’s already been into what has to be, and it changes the world with a scream that could cleave open a normal feeling heart like a regular piñata, and there’s no harm in mixing metaphors, you know, you just have to say what you have to, do what you have to, all to make you point. and this point is sharp and it’s bloody and the pattering before now sounds like someone overturned a water glass and the water just keeps right on coming.
and all that’s left behind is a face that’ll never be serious again, he’s like humpty dumpty—the pieces are everywhere, they’ll never put him back together—and if he smiles any harder half his skull will just topple down up off the rest and there goes the neighborhood!
“Do you know how I got these scars?”
the world is right now.
“Neither do I.”
the world is silent right now.
it takes one more slice, one more quicksilver twist, and then the screaming starts again.
that ruined face, not a man’s face, not anymore, it rips itself along the fresh seams, it tugs at that jackal’s grin and it tears apart like so much pretty bloody tissue paper.
it leaves a mess.
*
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-13 04:46 am (UTC)You are so fast at replying, wow! D: