Last Hope Motel: Dead End.

Right now I'm drunk. It's 4 a.m. and I'm driving nowhere. The night's cool and quiet; I'm not. I go as fast as I can wishing maybe a rabbit or the jackal chasing it will get caught in the headlights making my reflexes spring into action, making me turn the steering wheel violently in the hopes that the little animal won't be just another innocent victim, like myself... the scared little creep looking back at me, standing in the middle of the highway frozen in fear; then my reaction and then this car bouncing out of control until it crashes against a cactus tree. Away from everything there'd be no help... it'll be a lonely, painful and slow death. I can see it a thousand times in my mind... but, am I not already dying?

This thing I'm feeling... at first I thought it was rage... now I know it's not rage, is frustration... in the end, just sadness... plain and simple, dark and blue sadness; just like this desert.

Looking into the rearview mirror I can see how everything´s changed, despite we promised each other it never would. Things doesn't work all the time; I stopped caring some time ago. She was my life, now there's nothing left.

What's that? Are those neon lights? I fear I'm coming closer at an increasing speed. I don't recognize the distance between things anymore, and I don't really care: the bottle of gin at my side has taken care of it. Suddenly it's too late when I realize I'm driving my car directly against a building, a motel of sorts. I don't bother to close my eyes and wait for the collision. If this is the end, it'd make a good death. I'm almost there where I finally die nailed to a wall, crushed inside my car's cabin. I can't wait for the impact. I resist once again the urge to close my eyes, the thrill exciting the liquor in my blood, my heart pumping faster and faster... but then reality loses its grip on me as I break through the motel as if it were an illusion, its walls made of the same fabrics dreams are made of. Instead of crashing against it I found out the place rests at the end of a cliff which sends me flying away into the darkness of whatever lies beyond the end of the world.

Last Hope Motel: The Ferryman.

Ever since she died I have longed to linger. The cancer devoured her slowly and sorely consuming us both until there was neither flesh nor blood to hold on to.
I survived to her only for our children; to see them grow strong and happy. We worked it out as a family led by her loving memory. We grew closer to each other, giving comfort to ourselves.

We had to somehow fill the empty space left by her death.

For quite a while it was OK. Our children needed me and I was always there for them. But now that has changed, they have grown strong and happy, and just like that they have left home to pursue their own future; a future where I am too old and lonely to wish to live.

I go back to those years and it feels like they had never happened, just like some kind of dream; a bad dream as it feels now.

I have saved an obolus for Khárôn to take me to the other side of the river´s flow. I have decided I do not want him to take me here in our home. I would like to embark on my journey somewhere else far away from here, away from everything. A place where I have never been before, where I can finally rest as I am, as a forgotten old man.

Last Hope Motel: Orphanage.

Mom and dad left some time ago. They told me they needed to spend some "quality time" together, or something. I miss them; I’ve never been away from them for so long, it’s like time had swallowed them whole. They didn’t gave me an address nor telephone number to contact them. If I could just hear their voice, know they're fine, anything! Why haven’t they called?! Are they ever coming back?!
I skipped school this morning because I wanted to look for them, and find they’re OK. I’m not sure why, but somehow I feel they need me, like they’re calling me.
I’ve been riding my bike all day with no certain direction; and yet I've got this strange feeling I'm getting closer and closer, and as this feeling grows, so does the coldness... real weird stuff... like if I had went through some kind of barrier, a frontier between me and I don’t know what... like I said, weird stuff, kinda creepy.
Mmm... there’s something bright in the distance: it's neon lights. Maybe a motel?, like the ones alongside roads in the desert... only this one isn't at the side of the road, it's its end.
Anyway, I'd better get there fast, before I freeze to death.

Last Hope Motel: Lost Hope Motel.

"That’s life" they say, "that’s the way it is". Well, I decided life doesn’t have to be like that. When I first made it to this motel I took out that piece of meat they call heart, with a fist wrapped in blood. I needed to get away from everything; even from myself.
I put it in a drawer. Sometimes I place it on the table and stare at it. Strange as it is, it still beats... even though I cannot feel anything.
Now there’s no place to run, no way to hide; and no need to. I’m no longer human, I’ve become something else entirely: I’m a walking corpse. And they’re aware of my presence; I know it because they step away from me. It’s like the coldness of my body frightens them. Maybe they’re afraid of becoming like me, maybe they think I could harm them if they come near me.

It doesn’t matter anymore; nothing can stop me now; they can’t hurt me ever again.

Last Hope Motel: Asphyxia.

My eyes slowly open and the blurred images regain some of their form. Where am I? This looks like a motel room, no doubt about it... Damn, this hangover's gonna kill me... Mmm, where is the girl I shagged last night? Where was I last night and with whom? Hard to remember right now, but whoever she was has already left.
As I stumble around the place's furniture the memories of last night resist to show up; instead, flashbacks of my life haunt me. I make it to the bathroom. My toothbrush, shaver, lotions and creams are organized exactly the same way I have them arranged back in my crib. I run to the closet and find all of my clothing nice and clean. How much time have I spent in this place?
I need a bath. Inside the bathtub there are my soap and shampoo brands, as back home. This place... What the hell?! I wasn't here last night! Oh! My head... I can't even scream inside my head... all this is too strange... I think I'm gonna be sick.
I put my pijamas on and exit the room. The corridor is desolated. I go downstairs; there's no one in the lobby. Checking the record books I find my registration entry, it was last night... Where the fuck am I?... nothing makes sense...

Last Hope Motel: Expectations.

His last words before hanging up were "I'll meet you there". So now I'm looking for this place, though I really feel it's calling me. I have no address, at least not a real one, only directions, signs, indications on where to turn and where to go straight. But then, I can't help the feeling I'm going in circles.
I can't wait to see him again, to hold him and kiss him. We've grown so distant over the last few months... I just want this last chance to make things right, to erase the mistakes of the past and build a better future for us both. I love him so much I can't really explain what has happened between us... sometimes I fear it's someone else, but what really terrifies me is, well, it's me... What if it's all my fault? What if it's me who's grown distant? What if I'm not enough? I can only wish he can forgive me as I have forgiven him...
At last! "The neon lights in the distance," just as they said back in town! I'm so excited I can't wait! Is he already there waiting for me? Has he chosen a nice and cozy room? Gosh, my belly's full of butterflies!

Last Hope Motel: No Vacancy.

The rain won't stop falling. Right now it feels like forever. I think I've been moving in circles for too long. This damn rain, I can't see a thing. Somewhere in the distance there are neon lights: it's a motel for sure.
As I keep going the rain has already made it through my clothes. I'm soaking wet when I finally make it there. As I thought, it's a motel. I enter only to find there aren't any rooms left. With no other choice I hang the wet clothes and hit the bar.
People come and go without notice in these places, so I figure -if I hang around I may get a room, sooner than later-.
Inside the bar the place is deserted, except for a strange guy in a corner drinking in silence. I sit down and wait... I don't know what I´m waiting for, but I have nothing else to do than wait.
Time goes by and I can't do anything but watch it drown in an endless moment... Where am I? I've never been here before... it's that why I feel so lost? My chest, it's like someone beat it with a hammer. I can't breath, I'm suffocating... what is this place? Oh God, please tell me it isn't Hell.

Last Hope Motel: Room for Two.

Back then, when we married -even before- when we where hanging out, he always used to hold my hand. No matter where we went, no matter where we were, with friends or all by ourselves, he'd always hold my hand. Now he's just a shape beside me. I think I don't love him anymore and it doesn't even make me sad. Is this what hate is all about?

I don't know for how long I can take it. "This is our last chance, to make things right, to go back to what we used to be", she said while making the reservations to this motel we're heading. "It'll be our second honey moon, it'll be great, you'll see", she continued. Well, the truth is, I can't see anything in this fog. We almost crashed some kilometers back. She stared back at me with judging eyes, like it was all my fault... This place better be a bomb, 'cause I really don't know how long I can take it.

To think we were so happy... what happened? We have a son, he always wanted a boy, now he has it... Isn't that enough? God, what am I thinking... what was I thinking when I decided to come to this place... If he'd just hurry, I feel so uncomfortable in this car.

She's so selfish. She's always expecting something from me; from everyone. I'm the one who has to carry with all the weight of this relationship, of this marriage... That word... its sound is no longer familiar. We've talked about divorce already. And my boy... she wouldn't say it, but she's been clear enough about it: she won't let me have him; I can have everything else, the house, the car, whatever I want, but not him... She might be sitting next to me -quiet and beautiful- looking at the desert through the window, but I can't recognize her anymore, she's like someone else... and I am so lonely right now...

Last Hope Motel: Vacancy.

So I find myself walking again on this road. It's a lost highway I've heard.
It must be true: I never seem to get nowhere, for no matter how many times I've tried, I've always failed.
It's only after -I don't know how long- that I reach the only construction a desert this cold and dark blue can offer. It's a motel, the neon sign reads. I enter to see if there are any rooms available.
I feel at home here. Here I'm lonely no more; I'm alone. A room is waiting for me, and here I'll stay... until the broken pieces stop falling apart, so I can put back my skin on; until everything starts to make sense again, so I can tell my mind where to go.
Within these walls it's warm. Now I can rest and have some sleep, swimming in dreams. Then I'll go downstairs and sit at the bar. In silence I'll have my drink. Talking to nobody I'll stare back at them, and they'll feel my gaze.
Eventually someone is going to look back at me, and I'll be waiting for her. I can see her turning around and smiling because she has found me among the crowd... I know she's coming someday to this place. Everyone who is lost finds her way here. She can't miss it: it's the building with the neon sign at the end of the road, near the edge of the cliff.
Till' then I'll remain here, lying down. The voice inside my head telling me I don't want to be hurt again will slowly start to fade... then we'll find ourselves in each other's arms, beside solitude and tranquility.

sin título

¿cómo ahogar los sentimientos sin morir con ellos?

solo

a medida que me alejo puedo sentir cada vez, más y más
cómo las partes de lo que alguna vez fuí caen fragmentándose en mil pedazos
esta tristeza desbordante es lo que queda de nosotros
tú has desaparecido en una noche odiosa y sin sueño
yo, mientras tanto, espero a que una mañana la marea se lo lleve todo por fin

de la tragedia del amor

Amada mía,

Hace tiempo ya que nuestros cuerpos se enfrían en una noche que se manifiesta larga y terrible. La ausencia de tu alma se me antoja invivible, y paso mis horas pensando en tu recuerdo. Busco en mis pensamientos, en vano, el calor que me brindabas en las largas horas; busco por todas partes una manera de curar este quebranto, esta distancia ominosa que nos separa, aunque ya en el fondo de mi corazón sé que mis deseos son fútiles.

La bendición de Dios, que con su luz iluminó todos nuestros días, se ha apartado de mi vida para dejarme sumido en las tinieblas. Me parecen lejanas y ajenas nuestras mañanas dedicadas a su enaltecimiento, y temo miserablemente por mi destino, ahora que me sé ignominioso a su mirada. Rezo inconsolablemente por una salvación, porque ante mí se dibuje un camino que me muestre la salida a esta desmesurada sed que me acecha y no deja en paz.
Oh! La sed, si tan sólo pudiera saciarla, calmarla! Lo he intentado, por tu amor, por la gloria de Dios, pero es más fuerte que la tentación que sufrieron Adán y Eva en los jardines del paraíso. Deambulo en las noches por los cementerios, con la esperanza de encontrar allí, entre los huesos, la compañía que no encuentro ya en el mundo de los vivos. Soy un monstruo! Una criatura vil que roba en las noches la vida de quienes aún experimentan la dicha divina de la gracia de nuestro Señor! Me aborrezco y temo a la vez. Ya ni siquiera me reconozco, pues me ha sido vetada hasta la felicidad de ver mi rostro en un espejo. Mi compañía son la oscuridad y las lápidas, los susurros de la muerte y los aullidos de los lobos. No entiendo cómo todo aquello que espantaba y apesadumbraba mi espíritu es lo único que me libra de la soledad amarga y cruel; lo único que no ha cambiado es mi amor por ti.

Si tan sólo pudieras estar tú conmigo! Sostener mi mano y juntos recorrer entre estatuas de ángeles y mausoleos de nuevo la senda de nuestro amor! Pero no! No! Mi amor por ti es demasiado grande, mis sentimientos demasiado fuertes para permitirme siquiera fantasear con una noche en la que compartas toda esta miseria. Por mis venas corre la sangre de extraños, hombres y mujeres, que se entregaron indefensos a mi abrazo y ante él sucumbieron. De idéntica manera me rindo yo, cuando saboreo en mis labios y se desliza dulce por mi garganta este vino impuro.

Te escribo esta carta rebosante de dolor, luego de haber probado la amargura de la peste en mis propios labios, y abrazado siervos, villanos, nobles y bandidos. Esta situación me impide acariciarte de nuevo, considerando esta calamitosa condición. Son extrañas las maneras del Señor; la justicia como la entendí alguna vez no existe; ahora soy la causa del miedo y la superstición que nos abordó por años. Nunca miré al sol con temor, y gozaba de su luz y calor. Extraño no poder volver a hacerlo, y más áun, saber que en ése entonces tenía la posibilidad, como tú la tienes ahora, únicamente que ya no podemos compartirla.
Si tan sólo pudiera hacerte entender... ahora no me importa que estuvieras en un duelo eterno entre el pecado de Eva y la santidad de María. Dios así nos hizo, y así te he amado, a pesar del riesgo de salir herido como finalmente sucedió, aunque no por falta alguna de tus dones, sino por tratarse de una bendición que nos fue otorgada en el momento en que nos enamoramos y que me fue arrebatada una noche cualquiera. El destino es como la plaga: no repara en rango o riqueza... caminamos por la vida oyéndolo, pero no escuchándolo.

Soy víctima de lo impropio, las respuestas las tendré que encontrar solo, puesto que ya no soy bienvenido en la casa de Dios; pertenezco a una distinción social de mártires personajes de cuentos de terror. En qué momento ocurrió esto? No puedo creer que todo aquello que construí en mi alma, a través de estos años, haya ofendido a Dios de tal forma. Sólo Él sabe que mis pecados obedecieron a mi condición humana y nunca a su desafío, y si este es el castigo que por su divina voluntad es necesario que yo sufra, lo sufriré hasta que Él decida despojarme de la existencia y permitirme estar contigo en Su gloria.

Oh, alma mía! Esta carta, lo sé, es odiosa, y quisiera yo que fuera mentira, pero todo lo que te digo proviene de lo más íntimo de mi alma triste, de mi cuerpo vacío y frío. Es así que me despido de ti, rogando a Dios para que tu vida nunca se cruce con la mía o aquellos de mi estirpe, para que te cuide del pecado y jamás te castigue como lo ha hecho conmigo. Te guardaré en mi alma como el más preciado de los tesoros, como la corona más hermosa de todas, y tan sólo pido que tu recuerdo mío sea el de los días entre los campos que compartimos

Toma estas palabras y hazlas tuyas, mientras yo me interno en la oscuridad y soledad de la larga noche.

(por santiagomarínj. y ricardo guerrero garcía-herreros)

sin título.

todavía se siente cómo se resquiebra por dentro
todo cae, inevitablemente, y suenan pedazos de cristal chocando entre sí
luego las pisadas que se van
y con ellas tu olor.

Batman: Black or White, Chapter Two

BATMAN: BLACK OR WHITE

CHAPTER TWO

April 2

In what seems to be another day, the sun slowly sets behind the tall Gotham City’s skyscrapers.
…
Above, the cloud ceiling reflects no Batsignal, as if it’s missing it.
…
Inside his manor, Bruce Wayne contemplates the beautiful sunset, as the sun rays come through the tall windows.
…
Without saying a word, Bruce Wayne turns back and heads towards a grand piano, that stands in the middle of the manor’s living room. He opens its large cage, introducing one of his hands. Then, there is a faint sound, as he pushes a button hidden inside.
…
*CLICK*
…
Without any delay, a tall and antique grandfather’s clock opens immediately revealing a path.
…
The clock’s hands point at seven hours and thirty-nine minutes in the starting night.
…
Inside his Batcave, Gotham City’s favorite playboy walks and passes by a number of giant vaults like closets aligned through a long corridor. Suddenly, he stops in front of one of them.
(At the dead end a vault can be seen with the Batman emblem on it).
…
After entering the secret code the vault opens, showing its contents: rows of different kinds of clothes hanging, wrapped in plastic. Everything is perfectly organized.
…
Under his Bruce Wayne alter-ego, the Batman chooses one (the tag “Matches Malone” can be read on it).
He proceeds to disguise himself with it:
…
First comes the make-up, consisting of changing his hair color and gluing a thin mustache, along with a scar that runs up from his neck to the half of his left cheek.
…
Then he gets dressed, with a reddish brown suit and a fedora.
…
Finally, he puts on a pair of dark glasses and a golden tooth, assuming the Matches Malone persona.
…
Later in his Batcave’s garage, the Batman (concealed under the Matches Malone’s disguise) walks in front of a vast variety of cars and other different ways of transportation.
…
(Small Search and Rescue helicopters and gliders, as well as other types of aircrafts can be seen).
…
He keeps walking until he stops in front of a black, 1947, two-doors, Lincoln Continental Coupe.
…
The car looks used, though in perfect condition.
…
Matches Malone sits on the driver’s seat and starts the engine. It roars in response, and he drives away.
…
Seen from above, Gotham City’s Downtown flashes with life. Its neon signs and colorful pedestrians populate in what would be an otherwise moonless night. High-class prostitutes and their pimps; gamblers and thieves; tourists and executives; all cross the streets indistinctly. Luxury cars and taxis speed down and up the avenues and boulevards.
…
Matches Malone, comfortably inside his automobile, drives away from the top-class shore of Downtown and heads into Gotham City’s darkest entrails, directly to the East End.
…
The East End was born in the Twenties, in a time known to history as the Prohibition era in the United States of America. Within those years, gangsters smuggling alcohol established their base of operations inside and beneath these buildings. The first and upper floors were used as the offices and headquarters for their legitimate businesses, a façade which served as a front for their criminal activity. The basements, in turn, stored great amounts of moonshine. Dug tunnels connecting the basements made easier the traffic and hiding of the illegal booze.
…
When the Prohibition ended with the ratification of the Twenty-first Amendment in nineteen thirty three, the remaining gangsters saw an opportunity and moved along with their millions of dollars to new shores, namely, those of Downtown.
…
The less fortunate became its permanent residents: the homeless and vagrants, the unemployed hit men and ruffians, the lowlifes and whores, the scoundrels and pickpockets.
…
The old and then uninhabited buildings were either demolished or remodeled: warehouses were turned into porn cinemas; offices into striptease clubs and brothels; small neighborhood stores into sleazy bars and nightclubs.
…
As for the basements’ tunnels, their former owners were intelligent enough to block them up and forget about them. Their existence became an urban legend, even to the police force of the city.

To these days, twenty or thirty years later, very few people know of their existence; among them is the Batman.
…
Matches Malone arrives to the East End, leaving his car in a parking lot. With his hands inside his jacket’s pockets, he crosses the street and calmly walks through the poverty and the disease which abounds on every sidewalk. Half-naked girls and women offer their services interestedly, while beggars only extend their dirty hands, without saying a word or looking at him.
…
After a while of strolling through back-alleys, he eventually makes it to the destination of his trek: a juke joint called “Jezebel”, where mobsters and goons gather to share drinks and, if inquired politely, a little information.
…
A bouncer standing in front of the entrance recognizes him and steps aside, ignoring the order to frisk each entering customer.
…
Inside of this place the cigarette’s smoke casts a murky cloud. Drinks come and go as the bartender incessantly serves them, while the waitresses work hard to keep the clients satisfied. Two drunk men tussle to play their desired songs on the jukebox. For the time being, Lois Armstrong’s “Mack the Knife” fills the atmosphere with its outstanding jazz.
…
Despite the dim light, Matches Malone recognizes some unfriendly gazes staring at him.
…
He grins, and his golden tooth shines.

Matches Malone (to himself): SIX TOUGH LOOKING GUYS, HUH? SURE THEY HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE.
Matches Malone (to himself): I’LL START WITH THEM.
…
Without neither hesitation nor haste, he moves towards them.
…
The antisocials take notice, and prepare themselves for the uninvited guest.
…
Upon arriving, Matches Malone takes his fedora off, in sign of respect. His interlocutors, on the contrary, lean on their elbows against the table, showing mistrust.
…
The meanest looking guy is the first to speak:

Mr. White: I’LL BE DAMN, IF IT ISN’T MATCHES MALONE!

He inhales from his cigar, blowing a dragon’s breath of smoke.
…
Mr. White: LONG TIME NO SEE.
Mr. White: WHAT BRINGS YOU DOWN HERE?
…
Matches Malone: I HEARED THERE’S BEEN A MURDER.
Matches Malone: MY BOSS IS CONCERNED HOW THIS EVENTUALITY COULD ALTER THE BUSINESS.
…
For a brief moment there is an uncomfortable silence. Matches Malone takes a match and puts it in his mouth.
…
Matches Malone: MURDERS AREN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS, FOR THE BUSINESS DEALS WITH LIVE WOMEN, NOT DEAD ONES.
Matches Malone: AND DEAD WOMEN CALL POLICE’S ATTENTION, AND POLICE’S ATTENTION ISN’T GOOD FOR THE BUSINESS,
Matches Malone: NO IT ISN’T.
Matches Malone: THEY MAY BE PAYED OFF, BUT SUCH AN INCIDENT IS STRONG ENOUGH TO DRIVE RIVAL GANGS TO WAGE WAR FOR TURF,
Matches Malone: AND THEN POLICE WILL HAVE TO MEDDLE,
Matches Malone: NO MATTER WHAT.
…
Mr. Brown: I SEE.
Mr. Brown: AND WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW ‘BOUT THIS MURDER?
…
Mr. White: WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU IDIOT?!

He pounds the table with his fist.
…
A man among the brutes finishes his drink. He stands up. His voice is hoarse, although he speaks in a gentle manner:

Mr. Blonde: LET’S CALM DOWN, WOULD YA? WHY DON’T WE GO OUTSIDE AND HAVE SOME FRESH AIR? ALL THIS SMOKE SEEMS TO START TO GET TO OUR NERVES.
Mr. Blonde: IT’S TOO CROWDED IN HERE.
Mr. Blonde: LET’S GO OUT…
…
He makes sure Matches Malone can see the gun in his hand, hidden under his coat, pointing at him.

Mr. Blonde: …COME ON, BE A GOOD LAD.
…
Seven men leave the bar. Matches Malone walks in front, with his hands up; Mr. Blue and Mr. Orange escort him, with their guns pointing straight at him; Mr. Pink, Mr. Brown, Mr. Blonde and Mr. White follow them closely.
…
The alley is narrow, with trashcans scattered alongside the walls.
…
Mr. White: YOU’RE GONNA TELL US EVERYTHIN’ Y’KNOW ABOUT THIS MURDER.
Mr. White: YOU CAME ASKIN’ QUESTIONS, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME IT’S YOU WHO HAVE THE ANSWERS.

Matches Malone: I KNOW NOTHIN’.

Mr. White: SHUT UP.
Mr. White: YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO TALK LATER.
…
He takes one last blow from his cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.
…
Mr. White: KEEP WALKIN’, THE CAR’S JUST AHEAD.

Matches Malone: WHERE’RE YOU TAKIN’ ME? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TO ME?

Mr. White: YOU’LL KNOW SOON ENOUGH, MY PARTNER WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOU.
…
Mr. Blonde: “ALL YOU CAN DO IS PRAY FOR A QUICK DEATH, WHICH YOU AIN’T GONNA GET”.

Matches Malone: THERE’S NO NEED TO PRAY:
Matches Malone: NO ONE’S DYING TONITE.
…
Before any one could react to his words, Matches Malone turns around and grabs the two nearest thugs strongly by their arms, impeding them to use their weapons.
…
The one to his right receives a knee-kick in the stomach. He falls to the ground.
…
The one to his left is tossed upside down against the wall. He lands on his head.
…
The two are left unarmed and unconscious.
…
Next, with blistering speed, he grabs a trashcan’s cap and throws it at two of the four men remaining.
…
They too end up unarmed and out of combat, as the cap hits Mr. Pink in the hand, ricocheting against Mr. Brown’s head.
…
Mr. Brown falls to the ground, blood spurting from his forehead. Mr. Pink is propelled back against some trashcans, as a consequence of the impact.
…
He crawls for cover.
…
Panic strikes Mr. White’s and Mr. Blonde’s face.
…
Too clumsy and slow to stand a chance, they are bested easily. It only takes one more kick…
…
…and one last jab.
…
Only one, of the initial six men, remains conscious to speak. He is a coward miscreant with big blue eyes and big teeth, enclosed by a big mouth. He has a thin moustache and a chin beard. His head, in relation to his features, is somehow small.
…
He moans and whines, crouched in a corner, because of the pain in his hand. He holds it against his chest with his other arm.

Mr. Pink: WHAT THE HELL!? YOU BROKE MY WRIST, OH GOD, YOU BROKE MY WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL KILL YOU, GODDAMMIT! I’LL KILL YOU!
…
Matches Malone walks towards him, like he had all the time in the whole world. Then, kindly, grabs his healthy arm; Mr. Pink, confused and without knowing what to do, merely contemplates…

Matches Malone: THAT ISN’T A BROKEN WRIST, YOU’RE JUST SORE.
…
Following this, he breaks the felon’s wrist with a swift and firm movement:
…
*CRAC*
…
Matches Malone: NOW, THAT’S A BROKEN WRIST.
…
Mr. Pink: AAAAWWWWWWW! MY WRIST, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMNED WRIST!
Mr. Pink: I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK! I’LL SING WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO!
Mr. Pink: PLEASE, PLEASE I BEG YOU, DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE, YOU BROKE MY WRIST! AWWWWW, MY WRIIIISST…
…
Matches Malone (to himself): SURE IT HURTS.
Matches Malone (to himself): WE TALK.
Matches Malone (to himself): HE TELLS ME EVERYTHING HE KNOWS.

Batman: Black or White, Chapter One

BATMAN: BLACK OR WHITE

CHAPTER ONE

9:11 p.m.

Alone, in the middle of a dark and filthy alley stands the Batman. With his eyes nailed to the floor, he stares at the lifeless body lying in front of him.

Batman (to himself): HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO WITNESS THE SAME SCENE?
…
From a distance, commissioner Gordon and his policemen struggle to keep away the curious citizens. The area is isolated with police tape.
…
Crouching next to the body, the Batman examines the corpse without touching it.

Batman (to himself): NO. IT’S NOT THE SAME, IT’S ALWAYS DIFFERENT. THE NEXT BEING MORE TERRIFYING THAN THE LATTER.
Batman (to himself): THIS TIME, A GIRL NO OLDER THAN THIRTEEN OR FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, STRANGLED. THE MARKS IN HER NECK SUGGEST A LEATHER BELT WITH SOME KIND OF ENGRAVINGS ON IT.
Batman (to himself): FURTHER STUDIES ARE NECESSARY TO CONFIRM THIS FIRST HYPOTHESIS.
…
Commissioner Gordon comes to his encounter.

Gordon: HOW BAD IS IT THIS TIME?
…
The Batman disappears into the night, without turning back.

Batman: NOT BAD…
Batman: EVIL.
…
Batman: I’LL TAKE HER WITH ME.
…
Commissioner Gordon tries in vain to repress a feeling of both exhaustion and annoyance.
…
Later on that night, the corpse of the young girl lies on a metal surface of what seems to be the Batman’s personal forensics room. All necessary instruments lie perfectly ordered at hand.
…
First, he takes photographs of the marks on her neck.
…
Then he proceeds to remove the clothes from the body, discovering new marks all over it resembling the ones on the neck, especially near her tiny breasts.
…
Batman: A MOUTH MADE THESE.
…
He takes more photographs.
…
Last, he holds a scalpel in his hand and buries it deep behind each of the girl’s ears. The two incisions meet at the sternum. From there he continues to cut a line running through her body, ending in the pubic bone.
…
He takes the skin and peels it back.
…
Batman: THE AUTOPSY EFFECTIVELY CONFIRMED THE CAUSE OF DEATH AS OF ASPHYXIA; CONTRARY TO MY FIRST HYPOTHESIS, IT WAS NOT BECAUSE A BELT WAS USED TO STRANGLE HER: SOMEONE WITH A GREAT STRENGTH HELD HIS HAND AGAINST HER MOUTH.
Batman: THE EXAMINATION REVEALED THE MARKS WERE DONE A WHILE BEFORE HER DEATH.
Batman: TIME RANGES FROM TWO TO THREE DAYS.
Batman: ALSO, THERE ARE NO EVIDENT SIGNS OF RAPE,
Batman: THOUGH THE GIRL IS NOT A VIRGIN.
…
Walking around the room, he continues:

Batman: THE BELT WASN’T FOUND NEAR THE CRIME SCENE.
Batman: NEITHER A CLUE OF WHO COMMITTED THE ASSASINATION.
Batman: ABOUT HER IDENTITY: NO IDENTIFICATION OR WALLET WERE FOUND.
…
The Batman leaves the room and walks down a hallway leading to the Main Computer. While staring at the bats above him, he keeps talking:

Batman: DATE: APRIL THE 1ST.
…
His eyes widen with surprise.

Batman: WAIT!
…
…as he lowers his head, showing defeat.

Batman: THIS CAN’T BE A JOKE…
Batman: APRIL’S FOOL…
…
The Batman removes his cowl.
…
He sits down and takes a deep breath.
…
Utterly alone, he leans against the back of his chair in the deep underground, dark Batcave.

Batman: STOP RECORDING.