I wonder where life comes from
I wonder where it goes
I wonder if it's carbon
Or the concept of our souls

I wonder if it's shared
And stops and starts again
In a rhythm that is broken
And has no sense of time

PoeM: 01 12/1/13

I could see each side, then
The side that I had been fighting for
And the side in which I dreaded

I could see then, before my eyes
The way my fear of them was just a state
In which their own minds were rotten
And we were the same

We were the exact opposites
But we were disguised
And could never predict who the other was

Where did the time go, old friend?
When did our thoughts split?
Why is our hate so strong?

But even I know that
Our fight will go on
And I will kill you
Drown you

Like you'll do to me

But both of us know that
It's our reflections that we despise
And the way the other
Echoes our disturbing infliction

Our cruel love and hate
Our greatest fears and desire
Who we want to be
And who we despise

Everything I am not
But nothing I am

I hate you
I love you
You pathetic
Amazing, thing.

I'll kill you
I'll swallow you
Somewhere in my dreams.

Seven Devils

Paranoia is what I have been labeled with, and how ironic it is that paranoia is what led me to my final hour. One might think that the outcome of their life is directly affected by what they believe in, and I have to question myself, did I bring this terror to my own mind? Could it have been avoidable if I had never thought about it in the first place? Perhaps the world we wish to believe is the one we travel to and are confronted with at the end of our lives. I suppose I won't ever know, nor will you my dear reader, whoever you are.

Who you are, however, is unimportant to my tale. You could have known me and my feats, hated me, found this letter decades after I wrote it when my name has turned to dust, but you will remember me after you read this. All I want is for just one person to understand the horrors that lurk within and outside of this realm. The horrors that haunt me and that will slaughter me before this day is done.

See, I was dead when I woke up this morning. Breathing, of course because I'm writing this now, but dead, really. People are wrong about when death occurs. It is not when we are torn from this fabric of reality, but when we understand that we can no longer live. That we cannot change, we cannot evolve further, we cannot advance. Death is when we realize nothing we have made in our lifetime will matter to anyone but ourselves and that it is gone when our soul is thrashed apart and thrown into oblivion. Death is when one realizes that the past they have created is nothing and that their future is inescapable, that we really have no control at all.

My first death was this morning when I woke up and they were standing there, all seven of them. It was when I realized that there was nothing I could do to stop it, that the gods- or lack thereof- had my fate. They always had my fate.

My breathing was ragged as I looked around my crowded room, my heart smashing against my ribs so thunderously that I thought one of them might reach into my chest just to yank out the noise. Instead, all of them simply smirked at me with their gnarled lips and twisted sets of teeth in the same instant. The dark room was silent as they stared at me, some with blank bulging eyes, others with their pupil less ebony pools, and one that stood in the back who had no eyes at all but gouged out bloody holes that seemed to stretch into the black pits of oblivion themselves.

Five years ago there had been a prophet standing outside of the cathedral as I walked by, ranting on about the church and evil, but when he had saw me, he stopped in his tracks and barreled after me, howling a prediction at me I have not since forgotten. It was a warning the old man yelled at me, waving one of his frail fists in the air, one that haunted me in my sleep but I had never taken action to prevent. I had never been a religious man, it was all hubbub to me, besides, I was busy. I am King Saden of the realm, I never had time for religion, though now I see I should have made time. Now I see that the prophet had been more than correct and that I was a fool to walk by. I can still hear his words echoing in my head:

Repent, oh wicked one. Pray to your gods and head their warning, for there is evil in the world, and evil in the hearts. The rulers of the realm are suspicious and weary, for what is done cannot be undone. With power comes punishment, punishment that no mortal can induce. Repent, oh wicked one!, for if you do not the gods of death will see to it that all unbalance in the realm is restored. Seven devils, seven devils they say. They will visit you on your final day. You will reap what you sow and be turned into dust, for the innocence lost will be returned in gold. Seven devils all around you, there will be. Seven Devils you can prevent if you head my warning. Repent, oh wicked one and learn from your ways! Or you shall die a death of the thousands you killed, torment and blood. For it is the job of devils you wish to complete, and it is the death by devils you shall receive!

The words throbbed in my head as I stared into the faces of my fate, each one pale and ugly as it stared back. Terror and panic, they come in waves but what stays is the desperation. I sucked in a breath, still frozen in place as I gripped the sheets on my bed. 

"Wh-hat do you want?" I blubbered out. What a fool. The one standing closest to me, one so tall and thin that it's shoulders hunched forward to the point where it's chest was in the same place as it's belly, stepped forward. It's grin widened at me with the question, it's cracked and discolored lips splitting open up to it's ears as its sanguine colored eyes seemed to rip into my very soul.

"We've come to burn your kingdom down."

I couldn't stop the words that poured out of my mouth before they did, garbling as the terrified moron I was. "W-why? What have I done to deserve this?" I already knew what I had done, now with a clear mind and accustomed to the situation- yes they are still here- I know exactly what I had done with an abnormal clarity.

The devil in front of me grinned wider, leaning in closer to me with a creak of its old bones as its foul breath fanned across my face. It smelled of rotting meat and must, like someone had forgotten a skinned pig in the bottom of their cellar for weeks. "It is the job of devils you have completed, and therefore it is the death of devils that you shall receive." It's voice was hardly audible, seeming to come from the creature's chest instead of it's throat, jumbled and distorted as if it hadn't spoken for a thousand years. Maybe it hadn't.

Fear pricked my nerves once again, sending my heart into another frenzy of thrumming and I wondered how much longer I had. I wondered what the death of a devil meant, and how it was carried out. I wondered if they meant what they said about burning my kingdom down, but most of all I wondered who would get the gold the innocent souls I had taken were meant to be repaid in. 

A sound like a ripping sheet of silk sounded in my chambers and it took me a moment to realize the devil in front of me was.. chuckling? I felt my face go pale, the idiot muscle in my chest pounding even more furiously. Could they hear my thoughts?

At the thought the devil grinned so wide that it's face split into two, the grin stretching up to it's twisted set of ears and exposing the full length of it's needle like teeth. It's giant head dipped down once, confirming my thoughts. I swallowed, the sheets constrained around my body suddenly feeling very tight.

The boy of only 12 looked from the torn letter to the devil in front of him, the same one described in the very paper he held. He blinked once, shifting his feet. "How long does this go on for? And do I have to read it all?" The devil grinned back at him and shook his head slowly. 

"If you do not wish. It is simply my duty to give the dying story of the last fate holder to the new one. All you humans want to talk about your horrible death in one last stance, even when you're already dead." Another harsh chuckle and the boy looked down to the letter with a sour expression. He was dirty, covered in soot from head to toe. He wore beggar's clothes and had no shoes but bandages bound around his feet to keep away the frostbite delivered by the howling winds. He was not afraid of this messenger, or devil as the King had called him. He wasn't afraid of much anymore, the harsh winter and soldiers had taken his fear. He had lived through the worst of the King's reign and survived. What was there left to be afraid of?

The boys eyes scanned further down the letter, for another two pages it described the ruler's first encounter with the devils, describing each one in awful detail and the boy shifted his weight again. He didn't have the patience for the man he despised most's dying cowardice. He looked up from the paper to the burning castle only a few miles away. It lit up the sky with it's scorching inferno, melting the snow in the kingdom and warming the clouds themselves with the plumes of black smoke.

"You will be the summer to the King's foul winter, young one." The devil said with it's twisted smirk and the boy looked back at him with an emotionless face.

"Is he burning in there?" He asked in his rather flat tone. The devil shook it's head once again. 

"No, he did not deserve a death as serene as that one." The boy simply nodded, content with that fact but otherwise uninterested in the details.

"What am I supposed to do now?" The boy asked, staring at the sky as it dropped ashes like snow to the ground. The devil leaned in close to the boy's face then, practically doubled over because of it's height.

"Everything." He whispered, and the boy's skin rose with goosebumps though he would deny it if anyone were to ask. "Avenge your family, make your own way, little one. The kingdom is yours now, do with it what you will. But-" the devil used one of it's twisted fingers to point at the letter the boy clutched. "take note of that. It has been your warning. The gods, the devils, we control your fate. Whether you succeed or fail."

The boy nodded, his fingers tearing the letter swiftly, letting the wind pick up the pieces and scatter them with the ashes in the burning kingdom that had belonged to Saden. The devil stretched back up, watching the boy with it's bulging blank eyes.

We have given you an advantage, young one. It is an advantage most people choose to forget or dismiss. Do you not see that you are already dead? You do not fear, and you have read the letter of the last. You know that no matter what you do, you are not immortal. You understand that even all the feats you accomplish now will be erased sometime in the future. Everyone dies, little one, but we are giving you the chance to live." The devil crossed it's lanky arms with a snap, looking almost content with it's pale and twisted features. The boy looked up to the thing with his still expressionless face.

"I understand." He agreed, looking almost sad as he stared in the distance. "I will remember you always. You have been a true friend of mine." The devil let out a throaty cackle of laughter. 

"Do not worry, young one, I will appear in many people in your lifetime. I will be their lust, and anger. I will appear as their greed and their sorrow. You will be tested as the last ruler of the mortals was tested, see to it that you succeed, young one, humanity depends on it. The gods and devils alike are rather un-amused with the mortal's sense of arrogance. They will start over with a new set of mortals if it is what they see is fit." The boy sucked in a breath hearing these words, and he shifted his weight once again.

"I will act as I see fit." The boy said with a nod and the devil let out another splintering cackle. A rune the color of blood burned into the floor of pine needles and dirt then, opening a fiery portal that whipped the boy's dark hair around as the devil stepped toward it.

“Something to remember me by, boy.” The devil growled with a laugh, slashing the boy's cheek open with one of it's sharp claws. The wound opened and immediately festered, then burned and healed all within the same instant leaving him with a raised scar that went from his eyes to the corner of his mouth. The boy flinched, and before he could call out in pain, the agony had already subsided.

“Oh I almost forgot..” The devil brought out a small sack attached to it's belt and threw it at the boy. “The King's debts repaid in full to you, fate holder.” Another long cackle and the devil dissappeared with the portal, sucked back into oblivion as the boy was doused in darkness.

The boy leaned down and picked up the sack, opening it's chord to reveal a small bottle with a shimerring golden liquid and two handfuls of coins he had never seen before. He closed the bad and sucked in another breath, turning away from the burning kingdom's streets he once called home and starting forward into the darkness of the unknown.

Letters

Addie-
They won't let me call you. The operators said that you had blocked your number- that you had specifically asked them to not connect you to anyone that tried to get through. Okay. I get that you don't want to talk to me, or at least I'm trying to. I wish you would have written me and told me that yourself. I shouldn't expect that from you, but I did. I thought you were dead, at first. I thought that the war had gotten over there and that- that maybe those bastards had snatched you up too. The thought of that, God, Addie it makes me sick to my stomach. You should've told me that you were done with me.. Instead I was left there, screaming into the pay phone while half the town is up in smoke. I thought that was going to be the last time I would ever be able to call you. They were so close, Addie. They took my whole squad and half the calvary. I was in the intensive care unit for a few days- which is how I got the time to write you. One of the slimy monsters got me with their poison probe. I was really sick, and all I could think about was your brown hair and those perfect emerald eyes. I love you. I love you more than anything, more than that old pickup truck back home I spent all my time on. More than every sunset I spent climbing up to the top of the mountain to watch. More than anything. Really. That doesn't mean much now, I know, but I figure you should hear it again because some how I feel like you're gonna speak to me again. Write me back. Maybe if I say it enough you'll understand. Maybe it'll seep down into your bones like it does into mine.
I can only imagine that you're not speaking to me because I was wrong. So god damn wrong Addie, I was. I'm admitting that to you now. Groveling to your feet in this letter because I wish I would have never come out here. I wish I could take it back. Playing War of the Worlds with real guns, it seemed so cool at the time. But I was just a kid, Addie! We were both just kids. How was I supposed to know the horrors? War, blood, death. It's everywhere and we don't even know what we're up against. I wish you would talk to me. To hear your voice one more time would mean the world to me. It's stupid, you know, that you aren't talking to me because I came out here. I know you didn't want me to go, to die out here, but I didn't think I would. It doesn't matter now, though.
They're sending more, the enemy that is. We're starting to understand their language, the bases are decoding it and feeding us the news. Soon they'll be swarming Earth. You won't be safe in America, or France, or Australia or any other place your parents have the money to ship you. Nobody will be safe. I guess you're one of the first ones to know this, whether you believe me or not- it hasn't made world news yet. They're trying to keep down the panic, keep everyone sane as long as possible. I don't really know why I'm telling you this, except to say that I wish I were with you. I wish we were spending the last few moments together instead of me out here in the cold dirt and slime wondering when it will be my turn to get harvested or split open from the mouth down. I know you're mad at me, in your eyes I left you. Abandoned you. But I didn't, Addie. I was trying to fight for you. I'm only out here fighting these god damned aliens because I wanted you to be safe. For us to have some chance at living a normal life together in the future, can't you see that?

I was wrong. Wrong in so many ways. This is bigger than you, than me, than the whole fucking planet. In the end, Addie, I guess I just wanted you to know that I never stopped loving you, even after you seemed to dismiss me. It hurts, but if I died to postpone the death of the world, fine. I did it for you, whether you see it or not. I hope you'll find it in your heart to write me back if you're safe, even if you don't love me back. Just a simple “I'm fine,” would do. Well, I guess this is your soldier signing off, Addison Reakley. I love you. I hope you remember that.

Your fighting husband,
Jonathan Reakley

Hollow Heart

This was it, he thought as we walked into the familiar parlor of his home, this is when life starts. He had been waiting for this moment almost his entire life. It had been a process, for everything has process, but he had been building up to this moment since the second she had said "I do." After trying for months, he knew there was something particularly special about this evening, he hoped it was the news he had been looking forward to for years.

There she was, sitting on the arm of her floral chair perched perfectly as if gravity did not affect her at all. Her pale blonde hair was stacked upon her head in ringlets, a few cascading down the side to gently whisper against her neck as the flames held in the grand fireplace flickered upon her ivory skin. She was, in fact, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on and the truth that she would be forever his still stole his breath away. He opened his mouth to greet her, but before he could make a sound she was already speaking.

"There is stack of paperwork for you on the desk." She said smoothly, her eyes still not turned onto him. He hesitated, but floated toward the cherry wood surface anyways, his hands rifling through the pages.

The man looked sourly down at the papers after a moment, his eyes flicking to the woman who sat at the other end of the room. She wasn't looking at him but instead staring into the crackling fire with eyes burning as brightly as the flames themselves, her beautiful face expressionless. He could tell she was blocking him out, however, by the way her jaw clenched a little too tightly to be comfortable. His heart slammed into his chest by the sight of her, and he looked nervously back down to the papers.

His gray eyes raked over the ink scrawl quickly, his hands flinching and gathering perspiration as the words raced through his clouded mind. "What is this?" he finally said out loud, his voice slicing through the silence of the room like a sharpened blade though he had no intention to sound angry.

"Divorce papers." She said flatly without looking at him, her own voice carrying through the room like a soft melody. She had a way with speaking that drew him in on every word, as if every sentence was carefully crafted to caress his very soul. He blinked, putting the papers down with a stiff hand and pursed lips. No, this wasn't right. She could not possibly be divorcing him. She had every thing she could ever want, a perfect life with lots of jewelry and hand sewn corsets in whatever color she desired. She was the envy of the town, the woman with the perfect life and a loving husband-how on earth could this be true?

"If this is a joke-" The man started, with a shake of his head though he could feel his heart pound inside his chest and his mouth go dry.

"It isn't." She reassured in the same empty tone, this time turning her burning orange eyes to stare into him. "You know what little tolerance I have for games."

"A divorce?" He choked out, suddenly feeling very weak in the knees. "But-but why?" He stuttered under her gaze, feeling small and insignificant though he was the most cunning man in the city. Instead of responding, she simply looked back into the flames. The man felt bile push into his throat and he swallowed it back fiercely, clenching his own jaw. "What about our vows? Our love? The baby? I thought that's what you wanted- what we both wanted."

Her breathing skipped a beat but otherwise looked unaffected, her eyes turning to him once again in the fiery inferno he had fallen in love with in the beginning. "Vows are words. Love is a lie. But the baby.." A small and mocking smirk feathered to her lips. "I forgot to tell you that I'm pregnant."

"Then why are you doing this?" The man yelled, his heart slamming against his ribs achingly with her words.

"Because it isn't yours."

The Hands that Quiver

The skin was pale as it stretched thin over the whitened knuckles, hands folded together tight enough that fingerprints were being indented onto the skin in red blotchy patches. The fingers themselves were carved to perfection, strong and perfectly spaced, though the skin itself was tattered with scars. Some were rough and old, others an angry pink with the long process of healing. Fingernails on a hand are never to be ignored, they tell much about a person and what their personality is like. These ones are unpainted and rugged, the edges of them look to be torn off or chewed on, but definitely not well manicured. There are white spots in the wide fingernails, their color standing out awkwardly against the fingers reddened with force. A sign of calcium deficiency, no doubt. Or maybe there's been serious trauma?

The hands move-separating- one moves to a sleeve made of red wool and yanks it down with a tremble that jerks the smooth motion ever so slightly. The fluorescent light that cascades down on the skin light up multiple marks, thin and shallow they look to heal quickly, but where did they come from? The hands open wide to their beholder, palms visible and unscathed besides the thin sheet of sweat that quickly gets wiped off onto the pair of dark blue jeans. The ten fingers on the hands twitch and spasm with their own life, the jittery landscape would make a terrible home for a pencil or even a paintbrush, but as they fold together again toned muscles seem to flex with the motion. Perhaps lack of skill is made up with strength. A long moment passes as the hands grip each other as if for dear life, the knuckles turning bone white with their one force turned against them as they rest against the blue denim.

Suddenly the hands move, splitting apart again only this time much more quickly as they slide rhythmically over the jean material. Wiping off the rest of the sweat, the hands are in motion, moving upward now with purpose and another tremble though it's a different kind. They move swiftly and gingerly as they caress what's handed to them, a blue blanket that feels softer than any material they've ever touched before, though it's not the blanket that causes the shiver to run a wave of goosebumps up the arms. No, it's the hand 6 times smaller than the ones that cradle the filled blanket that stirs the reaction, as it calmly falls onto the pale and scarred skin. It's what those worked hands had been waiting to hold their whole life.

Interrogation

Flickered intervals of black and vibrant colors were echoing through Iznora's mind as her head lolled to the side. At first it was just blurbs of blurry images, slowly shifting until they became violent memories pulsing like reality behind her eyes.

Iznora sucked in a ragged breath, the air hot and sticky with dirt as it coated the inside of her throat and scraped down her tongue. She couldn't remember the last time she had any water and could practically feel the hydration escaping through her pores as it dripped out in effort to cool her sun-burnt and blistered blue skin. Another hot breath. This time she tried to move, stretching her limbs curiously when white hot pain lashed up her side and her wrists twisted within the chains that held her arms spread wide. Iznora's crimson eyes flashed open, only to be vexed by the course fabric of a burlap sack scraping against her eyebrows. Her head whirled as she tried to remember what had happened, the corners of her thoughts smudged and slowed almost to a halt. Tatooine, she could feel that much. The fabric ripped off of her head with a hard pull, yanking some of her dark blue hair as her head was thrust roughly to the side. She gasped in surprise at the pain, her vision flashing and melting into something new as she blinked away the sudden movement.

The colors were opposite of the bright hot planet she could have sworn she was just in, consisting of a dull blue and fading purples that could be caught dragging across the floor. She blinked as she tried to focus, her vision wandering and hazy as she looked at the man that was smirking wildly at her. The world was spinning as Iznora's drugged mind tried to grasp reality, the man's Rattataki face flickering in and out with the face of the man who had captured her 6 years ago on Tatooine. She sucked in a breath, trying to steady her vision but the sudden intake of fresh air only made her head whirl, lolling it to the side again. The man grabbed Iznora by her jaw, focusing her brilliant red eyes on him with force. She felt the urge to spit on him, perhaps even say something clever but her body seemed to be unattached from her mind, trapped inside her groggy thoughts.

"They smoked you out good, didn't they beautiful?" The man said in a gruff voice, his smirk widening to expose his filthy crooked teeth. "You can hardly even keep your eyes open." Damn it, where were her muscles? She couldn't even focus on where she was, whether she was sitting or strung up somewhere. Her lip quivered as she tried to speak, her eyes rolling while her mind raced to try and remember why she was even here... The man let out a dry chuckle as he let her chin go, turning to the side and calling for water to someone that Iznora couldn't see. It seemed like an hour's worth of time before the man's tattooed face turned back to her, his grin even more devilish as he cast what was in his hand at her. She should have known it was water, but it didn't register until after the cloud of freezing cold needles pierced through the groggy fog and slapped her in the face.

Everything whirled for a moment, before reality bashed into the side of her skull like a brick, bringing back every memory in perfect clarity and dispersing the dream like state almost entirely. The man let out a rough laugh at her reaction, the pattern of his tattoos no longer a blur but a cruel and intricate pattern, his dull gray eyes licking with mild amusement. "What do you want?" Iznora spat, hiding her accent with ease. The Rattataki stood up straight, smirking as his large figure shadowed over her.

"We already have what we want, precious. But you seem to be carrying a bit more on your ship than we thought." He leaned down to where she was tied to a chair, his foul breath fanning over her face. "The spice we were after didn't seem to match all the other code blocked secrets you have hidden in that small little thing." Iznora stared at the man, unblinking.

"I don't know what you're talking about." she said flatly, her breathing even and jaw set. The man let out a humorless laugh, snatching up her jaw in one of his rough hands once again only to squeeze more fiercely than the time before.

"This would be a lot easier with your cooperation, sweetheart." he growled with a vicious smile. "But we have ways of making you talk if you don't." Iznora flinched, speeding up her breathing and blinking rapidly to show signs of fear.

"Okay, okay!" she said quickly, squirming in his grasp, "I'll tell you what I know- just, you can't hurt me." The man simply smirked without letting go of his grasp. "Okay so, the spice..That's the only reason I was on the ship. I'm a smuggler- a new one. The Syndicate picked me out because I didn't have anyone tracking me. They thought I was a clean slate. I don't know anything else about the ship.." The man seemed to ponder that for a moment, until his smirk got wider, his head shaking in mock disappointment.

"Wrong answer." he whispered, cutting the sentence off with a cackle as he grabbed the back of her chair, tipping it over to drag it behind him.

"No! No! I'm telling the truth!" she screamed, her eyes darting around the empty room for anything at all. The walls were made out of concrete and scrap metal, the only thing that seemed to gnaw at her memory were the dancing lights that flickered through the crack between the walls and floor. Iznora would have recognized those lights anywhere, along with the hum of speeders as they passed quietly outside. Nar Shaddaa. "Please, in the name of the Hutts don't hurt me!" she screamed, tears running down her face.

"It's actually in the name of the Hutts that I'm going to." He said with a chuckle, "Besides, your little Twi'lek friend told me everything."

The Hijack

Iznora ground her teeth together in decision as she looked between the two men on her ship, one of her blue hands roughly wrapped around the Twi'lek's wrists as she thrusted him into a seat. The ship's dashboard beeped desperately in warning, getting shriller as the danger seemed to get more and more real. She ignored it easily, her mind working in it's usual mechanical matter, she had been trained for situations like this, it would not get the best of her. Anger licked at the base of her thoughts, hot and violent, but it only sped up the thought process. Warning: Impact Imminent. Warning: Communications have been tapped, the robotic voice of the woman crowed over the speaker as the danger lights danced across the metallic paint inside of the cockpit.

This was the instant where Iznora's two very different lives would mingle for the last time, the heartbeat of the Syndicate would not be stifled and tangled with the mess that was Imperial Intelligence once again. Her bright crimson eyes flicked to the front window where she could see the Hutt Cartel's ships advancing more quickly than what any sane person could be comfortable with. Of course they were the Hutt's ships, identifiable simply because of the work she had done inside the slimy species' immoral industry, but they weren't after her precious cargo. They were after the few crates of special production spice she had hidden in the back for the Tretarkii Syndicate, not the Twi'lek she wouldn't mind choking to death at this very instant. Iznora looked to Baldarek, the Chiss she had grown more than fond of, and knew that he would understand what she was doing as soon as she executed it.

Lies, it would all be lies, of course. The Hutts were ignorant and obtuse to say the least, they would take whatever lead she would feed them, and that would buy her time. All she needed was some time.."Baldarek, do you hear that? We've got company." she said loudly, her feminine voice dominant and clear, ringing against the mechanical beeping and shrilling like a bell in the night. "You better take the escape pod and get the hell out of here before they find out that you're Intelligence. We both know the slimy bastards wouldn't know what to do with your information if they found it." Baldarek paused for only half a moment as the words ran through his thoughts, blinking once before nodding sharply and rising hastily from his seat. A single look was exchanged between the two before he disappeared into the back of the 'Aphelion', the kind of glance that was heavy and swollen with promise. The promise that the two would meet again, no doubt. Iznora would be damned to lose the only thing she had grown close to in the last 8 years of her life, she simply wouldn't allow it. No matter what happened, they would embrace again.

"There's an escape pod for me too, right?" the Twi'lek's voice was raw with emotion, and even though the man had been through a lot in the last few hours, Iznora found it pathetic. She ignored the man's alarm, grinding her teeth together in animosity as she reached to the dashboard, smashing her fist into the controls violently. With a slight electric rush, the control lights went dark, leaving only the shrill warning sirens to scream of the danger that was approaching even more rapidly now. At least now the Hutt's wouldn't be able to hear them.

Iznora turned to the Twi'lek, her red eyes burning with fury as she violently grabbed each one of the man's lekku, letting her blue fingers curl with force. The blue skinned alien let out a cry of pain, wincing as he looked into her dangerously resentful eyes. "Now you listen to me, Republic scum," she growled, her face only inches from the one called Jaaht'o, "You are going to do every little thing I say without a flaw. Do you know why?" The Twi'lek shook his head gingerly in her grasp, careful not to increase the pressure on the long appendages that extended out of his head. "Because if you don't, and you decide to tell those glutinous fat slugs about the information I need, I'm going to kill you. I will take these cute little lekku of yours," she squeezed a little harder at these words, "and cut them off tiny piece by piece until you're in such pain, you're begging for it. Do you understand?" Jaaht'o swallowed, nodding through his wince. "That's what I thought." she said with a nod almost to herself as she let go of him and stepped back. "Don't think for half a second that I won't, because as soon as I get out of this mess, I will track you down and see to it that you have never been in so much agony in your whole miserable life. And that's only if the Hutt's don't do it themselves."

"What happens if I don't tell the Hutts? You hand me over to Intelligence and then the same thing happens after I tell them?" the Twi'lek asked after a moment of reassurance that his tentacles were still intact and not damaged. Iznora let out a small sigh of comfort as she heard the escape pod dislodge from it's holding place on the ship, at least Baldarek had made it out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a section of the Cartel's ships fly after it, the others continuing to rush at her head on.

"Tell you what, Jaaht'o," Iznora's voice was much more alluring now, though it still had the undertones of hatred and chagrin, "If you don't tell the Hutts, I will personally see to it that you are not harmed or disturbed by Imperial Intelligence ever again. And I'll get you out of the Hutt's grubby mitts. Fair enough?" As she spoke she fished a small shiv out from her pocket and cut through the bindings on the man's wrists in one smooth motion. At the exact moment that the female Chiss finished her words, one of the Hutt's ships crashed into the side of the Aphelion with a loud and raking thud. Iznora clenched her teeth once again, removing her blaster rifle from where it rested on her hip.

Ashing the Rebuild

We could fight
We could fight
And rebuild up the world

Or we could light
We could light
And watch it burn to the ground

Either way is just dandy,
In a mind such as mine

But this limbo
We're stuck in
It will not suffice  

It's tiring and gray
Disturbing and lame
We crawl around,
Wait around

Counting
       the
           days.

So give me a torch
Or a hammer
Or faith

Today is the day
There's no time for delay.

Schizophrenia

"Sir, he's asking for that box again." The man sighed sharply, looking up from the papers he had been immersed in.

"Fine, bring him in here. It's about time we talk to figure why he's in here." he replied, putting the papers back on his desk. The officer hesitated, his hand on the molding of the door as his body turned to exit.

"If you don't mind me asking..what is in the box?" The chief shrugged indifferently.

"Dirt."

The police chief exited his office to the interrogation room just down the concrete hall, not soon enough to avoid the incoherent yelling from the mysterious visitor, though. He sat down in the familiar cool metal seat, it was uncomfortable to say the least, but he liked it. Because this was his favorite part of the job, finding the missing pieces of the complicated puzzles criminals hid behind.

"The box-where-? I need to kill her! To bury her wicked heart-god her lovely face. I miss her-the box! Let go-I need the box." The man screamed as he entered the room in between the two officers holding him fast by the wrists. The chief looked onto the man with a stern expression, trying to ignore the pain of pity that stung just beneath the right side of his rib cage, pity affected his job.

"Liar, liar!" the man barked as his eyes spun around the room blindly, the officers struggling to put him in the chair across the table. "You know you can't kill her, you love her too much." The man sat very still suddenly, his eyes staring straight into that of the chief's, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. And after a heartbeat of silence a terrible grin spread across the man's un-kept face. He looked rather goofy, with the dirty bandage across his forehead slightly pressing down on his left eyebrow and his missing right eyetooth.

"Hello, my name is Chief Banes," the head of the police department said dryly," who are you?"

The man laughed, and even his teeth looked dirty next to the white of his mangy beard. "Why, I'm George Markham." he said matter-of-factly, though his voice sounded much too young for his appearance. Banes wondered if it had anything to do with that damned bandage they had had to put on him when they found him bleeding and shouting in the desert a day and a half ago.

"George Markham. Well, it seems we don't have you on file, George, your fingerprints say your somebody else." George laughed at that, slamming one of his dirty hands on the table with a hoot.

"And who do my fingerprints say I am? Also, when did my fingerprints start speaking? I haven't heard them say anything!" He laughed again, and it was a hearty sound that in other circumstances might have made Banes smile a little.

"Oh they do," Banes played along, that was the trick with these kind of people, crazy people, you had to feed in to their lies a little to get a bit of truth in return. It was baby steps, give them too much information at one time, or press them too hard and they'd plunge head first into the deep end. Not that he had that much experience with people like that, not this crazy, "and they told me your name is Oliver Wilken."

"Wilken?" George muttered, sobering up instantly and meeting eyes with the chief. The dusty blue irises inside of his skull were wide with pleading, "No, no, Banes you gotta believe me. That guy is bad news. I have nothing to do with him, he's crazy. Absolutely bonkers, insane, and not the good kind either."

"Really?" Banes mused, folding his hands together as he watched.

"Yeah, take it from me, buddy. I don't know what you're looking for, but he ain't got the answers." Markham said, throwing his hands in the air.

"What makes you think I'm looking for something?" The chief asked with one of his eyebrows raised, grateful that there was a tape recorder under the table that he could listen to later. This was definitely going to be the most interesting interrogation he would ever be a part of.

"Well we're in an interrogation room, ain't we?" George asked with a small smile. "I might look stupid, chief, but I ain't." The chief smiled a little back, but what he really thought was that if the man used proper English his point might be better proven.

"So, George, what can you tell me about this box?" Banes asked, hoping his digging a little deeper wouldn't send the man back into his spiraling blabber of confusion.

"Box? I don't have no box." He said a little defensively, moving his eyes from the chief's.

"I know. But do you know about it?" Banes pressed a little, his voice still as placid as an untouched lake.

"I don't know about the damn box!" George yelled, his hands gripping his tangled white hair as he shook his head fiercely.

"George-"

"No! Listen," he shouted, pointing at Banes with one hand as the other gripped his hair tighter, "you don't know what you're getting yourself into-what you're bringing on. The man, he's crazy! Get rid of the box. Kill the man, and then live. Forget we ever came around, you'll be better off."

"We?" Banes asked, knowing that George was leaving fast by the looks of the way his eyes were rolling. With a grunt the man's elbows fell back to the table and his head slumped down to where Banes couldn't see his eyes. "Dammit," he sighed and leaned back into his chair.

"Oliver? Oliver Wilken can you hear me?" Banes asked loudly. Why was he talking like that? The man was in front of him, it's not like he would hear him any better if he increased the volume, that didn't change mental illness.

"She's gone," the man moaned, clenching his fists until the knuckles were white.

"Who's gone?" the chief asked, starting to become a little haggard with the routine of this.

"My love, she's gone." he wailed again, his shoulders starting to shake with small gasps.

"What was her name?" Chief Banes asked, wondering who these women were. One was dead, and one was going to be. One was an evil bitch from the likes of it and the other a perfect lover, or maybe there were none at all. But he had to know, because there was a reason this man wandered into their town and he would be damned if anyone got hurt because of him.

"Does it matter? She's gone now!" the man blubbered, still refusing to look up.

"Where did she go?" Banes asked patiently though he felt like screaming.

"She left--left me. I watched her- she left. Threw out the ring I gave her--and the bouquet."  he gasped in between heaves of his shoulders while his tears dripped onto the metal table.

"Why did she leave?" he asked slowly, trying to weave together the characters that seemed to share this one man.

"I'm alone now, all alone." he sighed.

"You're not alone, Oliver." Banes reassured, feeling the need to reach out and touch the man's forearm like he would do to his son.

"Oliver?!" The man hissed, bringing his tear stained eyes to the light. "I am not that bastard."

"Why do you dislike him so much?" Banes wondered aloud, letting his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Because he killed her! He stole her away from me!" the man yelled, slamming his fists on the table.

"Who?"

"Oliver!" he shrieked.

"No, who did Oliver take from you?" Banes clarified curtly.

"Her. Don't you get it? He killed the only girl I'll ever love, she had my heart and he killed her. I hate him." his voice broke in the middle of the scream as the tears came down faster.

"But aren't you Oliver-?" Banes started to ask, but was interrupted by the angry screeching of the man.

"Stop! Stop saying his name, you're going to bring him back, and no one can stand him!" and the same desperate look was in his eyes as the man, George Markham, before him.

"Bring him back from where?"Banes inquired, starting to wonder if the man was not only sick but possessed as well.

"Sleep-ugh!" he squeezed his eyes shut tightly then after a moment reopened them with a sigh. The change had occurred, Banes could see a whole new demeanor to the man by the way his eyes looked around the room, almost as if he understood why he was there.

"Who are you?" Banes asked flatly, feeling the circles starting to form under his eyes. This was exhausting, he doubted he would get any where this man.

"You know who I am," the man said as he stroked his chin, grimacing at the feel of it, "why else would you have me in here?"

"Actually," Banes corrected smartly, "I don't know who you are, because it seems to change every few seconds."

The man chuckled at that, and the youth in his eyes seemed to match the age of his voice. An early 30 year old, maybe even a late twenty year old.

"Now, I'm not that good of an actor. Surely I don't have you fooled to make you think I really am different people, do I?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"So you're just acting? Playing a little joke on us?" Banes asked with narrowed eyes, he was inclined to hit the man if it were the truth.

"Not necessarily," the man said with a sophisticated shrug. He looked like he belonged more in a suit in the middle of a court room than in torn clothes at a police station. "I mean, it's not on purpose, I assure you, but my problems aren't yours, right?" The smile that followed resembled that of a sales person.

"Depends, because it seems you're bringing your problems into my town." Banes growled, taking the intimidating approach, betting on the fact that this character could handle it.

"My problems and I are just walking through, if you let us go, we'd be on our way." The man said with a charismatic smile, looking even more goofy than before.

"And why exactly are you walking through?" the chief pressed.

"We've got business," he said with a shrug, " isn't that why anyone passes through here? Or do you have some secret sight seeing I didn't know about?"

"Why were you bleeding and yelling when we picked you up?" Banes asked, ignoring the jab.

"There was a fight, but you should see the other guy," he said with a wink, and Banes felt the urge to choke him halfway to death.

"Between who?" the chief asked in a strained voice, trying to keep his frustration at a disguised level.

"Listen, bud," Banes flinched a little at the endearment, "you don't need to know about me. Besides, what am I even doing in this dump?"

"You were causing a disturbance with your yelling as well as making death threats," Banes said coldly, letting his glare burn into the man who just shook his head with a chuckle in return.

"I formally apologize for the disturbance, as for the death threats who were they made to?" he asked, trying to hold back a smile.

"That's what we're trying to figure out." the chief answered, trying to read the guy.

He smiled wickedly, "I don't think you have much to hold me on, sir, with all due respect. If there's a fine I'll pay it, as for the death threat, it's just nonsense. I'm crazy, remember?" Banes wanted to kill the guy, or at least for the other versions to come back. The ones he could treat like children and strangle information out of.

"That's the thing, Oliver," the man clenched his teeth at the name, "I don't see anything in your records that says you are. No registered mental hospitals or even diagnoses of mental illness."

He leaned forward so that his face was only inches from the chief's when he said, "Well that's the thing that's scary about crazy people, Banes, is that they can blend in with everyone else for as long as they want without anyone knowing until one day, they just snap."

"And what made you snap, Wilken?" Banes whispered in a voice that sent goosebumps down his own back.

"Love. Love's the death of all things, Chief." he said with half of a smirk.

"And the box?" Banes asked, realizing that he had to let the man wander off at the end of the day. He had too much work to do, and he looked like the only real problem he was was to himself.

"What about it?" he said, leaning back into his chair.

"It's full of dirt, why's it so important?" he wondered, trying to feed his personal curiosities more than interrogate the man now.

"Maybe to someone who wasn't looking," the man said with a shrug as he rested his palms on the top of his head and tilted his chair back. And in the change of light Banes could see scars running across the man's tanned skin in all different directions on his arms and face.

"What happened to you?" he muttered in astonishment and the man clenched his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Bad things," he said lowly, "I got my heart stolen and I have yet to get it back, doubt I ever will."

"You too?" Banes asked, realizing that maybe he was closer to the answers than he thought.

"Who else?" he asked with his eyes still closed.

"The one before you, he was crying about his lover being gone, his heart being taken." Banes explained and realized that he was starting to sound crazy himself for feeding into it.

"Peter? Yeah, he's a crybaby. But his heart is mine too if that makes any more sense to you." he said quietly and it sounded almost like he was drifting to sleep.

"Oliver?" Banes asked, afraid that's what he was doing.

"I am heaven sent, don't you dare forget." the man mumbled and Banes could feel his hair on the back of his neck raise.

"What?" he asked, leaning forward so he could hear him better.

"I hope you come down with something they can't diagnose, something they can't find the cure for," he muttered as if it were playing off a recording in his head. A moment passed then he was scowling, his hands shaking with fury. "The bitch put a curse on me I swear it."

"What girl?" Banes inquired lowly.

"I think about you every day, and now I'm all alone." he whispered to himself. Banes couldn't ignore the electricity in the room, he was on the verge of understanding this man's story.

"You're not alone, Oliver. I promise that I'm right here." and again Banes wanted to comfort the man, less like his son now but more like he wanted to comfort himself. Like these problems were suddenly his now too.

"My friends, they're at the bottom of that lake. They don't swim because they're all dead." and realization slammed into Banes like a bullet. Right into the temple like a shot to the brain. Something hot leaked down his face and he touched it curiously, drawing his hand back red.

"Get it, Banes?" The man asked, his eyes open and burning now, "I'm not Oliver Wilken, you are." And suddenly those blue eyes were familiar, and the beard was no longer white but a grungy blonde. The missing tooth was one he had accidentally knocked out when he played football in high school and the gash in his forehead was from the car accident. The accident that killed her. Killed her and all his friends. The one that had sent them off the side of the cliff and into the lake they had been planning to spend the week at.


The car accident that killed his fiancee a week before their wedding day. The one that was 3 days after the worst fight they had ever had. The one where she told him that she wished he came down with something they couldn't diagnose, because he drove her as crazy as she drove him. 


"No, no, no!" Banes screamed as he realized it was just a mirror in front of him. It shattered then, plunging him into darkness.


"No!" Oliver screeched, waking to sweat covered sheets that entangled him like a snake. 


"Vera?!" He yelled, in the hardly lit apartment when he realized her side of the bed was cold. Tears streaked down his face when he realized it wasn't a dream but a waking nightmare, a view into himself and how crazy he'd become. He walked to the dresser across the room slowly, afraid of what rested on it. 


He traced the wooden lid lightly, like he used to trace Vera's thighs. He picked up the box gingerly, letting a sob break from his chest as he opened it. 


"When I die, you'll carry my ashes to where we first met, right? On the side of that highway in New Mexico where you saved me from dehydration and countless other things." He remembered her saying only a few months after they had started dating. 


"What other things did I save you from?" He had asked. 


"Well," she said, looking at him with those big green eyes, "you saved me from myself." 


"I promise." he muttered as he gazed into the box of gray ashes. And as he looked inside of that box he realized that that was the end of his road too. Because he hated the pain she'd left him with, and the world didn't make sense without her. And maybe when he layed that box in it's proper place she'd finally let her rest. 


Maybe he'd rest too. 

Letters

I look through those letters
The ones you gave me
Only a short time ago

I look at the writing
And the way your hand
Must have caressed the page

I look at the ink
And the spots where
You crossed out the words
That didn't fit just right

I look at the letters
And how each one was
Fashioned by the ends
Of your fingertips

And I realize
As I look through those letters
That they are
The language of love itself

That you are my Prince Charming
Even if you don't believe it

That you are a poet
Even if you don't like your handwriting

That you are my everything
And I am thrilled
To call you mine.

Innocence Lost

It was a warm sunny day outside despite the cool temperature that nipped at my hollow bones inside the hospital room. It was one of those days that I hated my career, that I wished I had chosen to be something different, something normal like a magazine journalist or maybe a paper distributor. One of those days that I felt completely and utterly empty, like a ghost, able to watch but not interact. 

Because I couldn't save her. I couldn't save her. A single mother, a warrior, some kind of angel sent down from heaven itself and I couldn't reattach her wings. 

She was pale as she laid there, the blinds were drawn in effort to save her one last headache, casting a gloomy shadow over the entire room. But it wasn't her, really, that my heart ached for. It was the child beside her bed, the little girl that clutched her mother's weak hand with all of her strength. 

"It's going to be okay, Annabelle," the mother whispered, stroking the girl's red brown hair with a wan smile. The girl nodded with wide eyes and pursed lips, and I knew she didn't believe it. An 8 year old girl, staring at her mother in her deathbed, and she knew the difference between the white lies and the bleeding truth. "Promise me, baby. Promise mama that whatever happens, you'll be strong. You have to be strong, because one day you're going to change the world." 

The girl nodded again, but this time I could see the tears well up in her navy blue eyes as she tightened her little hands around her mother's. 

"I love you, Annabelle. And I am so, so sorry." the mother gasped out with tears streaming down her face. The girl simply nodded again, her bottom lip quivering as she tried to hold back the tears that screamed to stream down her face like her mother's. "I'm sorry." 

The words hung in the air for a long, silent moment after the woman let her eyes fall shut and her hand fall limp in her child's. I watched the girl through this silent moment, watched her choke back the sob that threatened to shatter the quiet as the tears poured down her face and clutch the pale hand until her own knuckles were white. Desperation crept into the little girl's wide eyes and she started to shake her head, finally letting her face fall into the sheets and let the sobs break free. 

I slowly walked to her, my heart breaking with every step, to lay my hand on her small quivering back as I knelt next to her. We sat like that for a while, and I let her cry, because there was nothing else to do but that. 

"Does anybody hear us when we pray?" she asked into the mattress and I was slightly startled by the nature of her question. Out of all the days I had seen her she had never spoken a word, not to anyone. Not even to her mother. 

"What?" I asked, and wished I hadn't, my male voice sounded shockingly harsh even in a whisper among the soft voices of innocence and death. 

"Do they hear us when we pray?" She asked again, this time looking at me with her lost tear stained face. "Because I haven't stopped praying since mama got sick, and they didn't save her. They didn't save her." She collapsed into me then, her little arms wrapping around my neck and her tiny body crumpling into mine as the sobs racked through her. 

I stroked her hair softly as I let the question soak into my bones, because I didn't know what to tell an 8 year old. I didn't know if the answer was another white lie or the terrifying reality that I had accepted as the truth.

"You don't have to answer," she mumbled after a few minutes of my contemplated silence, "I know." 

And in that moment my world shifted with perspective. Because we were all born with innocence, but was it really a choice for us to lose it? Was it something that was just stolen from us as time grew old and we matured to see the horrors? Or was it something that we had to give up in order for us to be strong? Something we needed to lose in order to protect the ones who still had it? 

I held the girl's hand as we walked out of the room, and as I looked at her I still didn't know the answer. Because I was holding an 8 year old's hand, but I was looking into the eyes of a woman who knew that her mother needed to be protected from the truth that she in fact was the one who stole her innocence in the first place. A girl who knew the horrors of this world and realized that there was no amount of praying that would protect her from it. That no one could protect her from it. 

Crime's Royal Court

It was ironic, really. To wind up behind these walls when all she had ever done was advance the progress of the people that once belonged in these rooms. Ironic, and all she could do was smile, because she wouldn't change the past even if she had the choice. She was in here for a reason, they all were, but crazy and crazy in love? They were two different things her fellow psychiatrists and Gotham police had failed to see the difference between. But even though it had been months since she'd lost everything, she still had hope.

Because the love for her Joker was stronger than these madhouse walls, and one day he'd come for her like she had come for him.

The light above her flickered ever so slightly and she couldn't help but grin, because the day had come sooner than she had ever thought. The ground under her feet vibrated slightly and she giggled to herself, thinking of all the ways she would greet him when she saw him for the first time outside of the Asylum's walls. Maybe she would kiss him, or maybe she'd pretend she'd forgotten about him, maybe she'd slap him in the face for not coming sooner.

With the sound of thunder the room began to shake and warp underneath her, making it difficult to keep her balance as she ran to the door. She waited a moment, listening to the sounds in the hallway as the roaring got louder in the concrete walls.

"Earthquake!" someone yelled from beyond the door and she laughed with amusement as a chunk of cement fell from the ceiling to crash into the floor. She looked at it for a moment then grinned, she was on her way out.

"Help!" She screamed as loud as she could, pounding on the door as more debris fell from the ceiling and cracked the floor with a spiderweb of craters. As if on Que, the door burst open with a crash and two of the nurses ran in, after all, it would look extremely bad for the psychiatrist gone mad to be killed in a suspicious earthquake.

"Harleen?" They called, coughing on the dust and trying to study themselves on the shaking ground.

"I'm here," She called out weakly, holding a piece of the concrete between her hands.

"Where?" They called, fumbling closer as the light flickered off.

"Right...here!" She called as she smashed the concrete into the nearest nurse's head with a cackle.

"Jesus!" the other man cried out at the noise and she jumped toward the sound.

"He won't help you here, love," She whispered as she broke his neck. Freedom was only a few floors down, and not even the Batman could figure out a way to be here to stop her in time.

She jumped over the debris and into the flickering hallway, sprinting toward the window at the other end. She didn't have enough time to run down the stairs, and surely the police would be here soon to help with the cleanup, the only way out was down, and quickly at that.

Screaming was heard all through the hospital, cries of desperation and fear. Frantic chaos had never been so beautiful in that moment as she threw a stretcher through the glass and watched it shatter into the night.

She climbed into the window's empty frame, letting the cool wind hit her pale face as she gazed over the sparkling lights of Gotham. It was beautiful, but the part that made her heart beat was not escaping, or knowing that she would be able to see the sun again. The thought that made her heart race and her palms sweaty was knowing that in one of those buildings 6 stories below her was her Joker, and he was waiting for her.

With a grin on her face and the building shaking underneath the weight of her realization she jumped into the inviting ebony arms of the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't about the money, it had never been about the money. It was about chaos, about anarchy. Destroying the society they had all carefully constructed, instilling fear in the system they all bowed down to. None of these-these buffoons understood that. It was all about the damn money to them, making a quick dime, that was power to them. He rubbed his temples with an exhale, his mind already wandering to the forbidden thoughts with the small chance.


"Boss," one of their voices droned.


"What?" He growled, refusing to open his eyes.


"You uh- you might want to see this," Fantastic. Something else to have gone wrong with the plan he was sure. The bastards, he was about to kill each and every one of them and complete the task by himself.


"Really?" he inquired sarcastically, "Unless you have the Batman hooked on your left arm you better-" he opened his eyes to his vision completely blocked out by a title. A head title on the front of the Gotham Times, that read:

"Former Psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel Escapes From Arkham Asylum"


He blinked once, the henchman looking at him with satisfaction, expecting some kind of reward. His jaw clenched as he looked at the one of his many workers, signaling with a finger for the man to come closer, which he did.

He wrapped one of his gloved hands into the man's hair with a smile as he yanked the man's face close to his. "You are a waste of my time," he hissed as he dug a knife into the man's throat and tossed him, bleeding and screaming, to the floor.

"Let that be a warning to all of you," he yelled standing so the whole warehouse could see him, "to not waste my time."

------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonight had an electricity to it, he could feel it as he walked through the empty bank behind all of his henchmen. Tonight was a night for change, he didn't know what kind of change but he could feel it. Maybe he'd kill the Batman tonight, or maybe the people of Gotham would finally start to realize there was no stopping him. Either way, it was putting him in a shockingly good mood.

He walked lazily into the vault where the men were stacking the bills in sacks, a grin so wide even his scars stretched to show a few more teeth than usual. "Looking good, boys," he hummed cheerfully, taking out a lighter and playing with it. He was about to set a small stack on fire when shattering glass and screaming erupted from outside the vault. The henchmen jumped with the noise, looking to him for comfort, or maybe the signal to flee with worried eyes, but all he did was smile in return.

"Don't worry," he said with a wave of his hand, "I'll handle the Batman." and tucked the lighter back into his pocket, the grin he wore spreading ever so slightly.

Even the security lights were off in the bank now as he walked out of the vault, a cool breeze filtered in, knocking lose papers around and spreading the stench of blood and death toward him, in which he took a deep breath.

"I know you're supposed to be a bat," he chuckled, striding father away from the open vault, "but even this is a little dark for you, don't you think?"

"I don't know, it seems to be the perfect shade for me, I think." The voice froze him in his tracks, and even the Joker couldn't laugh in that moment. He spun around to face the source of the noise, slightly shocked by how close she was to the vault without him noticing. One security light flickered on behind her, illuminating her silhouette as she strode toward him, swinging what looked like a giant hammer in her hand. She wore black on one side and red on the other, each color hugging every curve and line of her body, her face painted white with ebony smirking lips, any man would've crumpled at her feet in that second. Specifically a man who found harlequins especially sexy.

"Excuse me," he said with a chuckle as a smirk stretched across his lips, "I thought you were someone else."

"Aw," she cooed as she stepped into another light so that he could see her full face, "can't you recognize me, puddin'?"

"Boss, do you need some help with the-" the henchman choked on his words as he caught sight of the disturbance, "W-who's this?"

And before the Joker could shoo him away, a wicked grin stretched upon her black lips, "Why, I'm Harley Quinn, his girlfriend."

Fear's Romance

It had been a long journey for her, she had seen a lot of things and felt even more. She had ventured to the darkest corners of her mind and there was a time that she had wallowed in her sorrows, bathing herself in her own misery. She had emerged from these dark places with cuts on her arm, for a battle worth winning was never won without a few scars.

It had taken her over a year to find the surface after clawing through the dark waters of her emotions, crippling fear had iced her veins and as she breathed the cool air once again she realized just what she had done to get there. To breathe, to be alive, she had fought with everything she had to just become that once again. She had fought herself, too, because somewhere along the line she had convinced herself that she wasn't even worth saving.

Now, as she walked on the shore, dripping wet and exhausted, she turned and gazed at the stormy waters that rolled and crashed with a thunderous sound that had echoed in her ears for what felt like an eternity. With her chest slowly rising and falling she allowed a small smile to stretch upon her lips, the journey home was a long one, but she had made it through the storm. She had conquered the worst she could think of, she was scarred and bruised, but she wasn't dead. She stared for a moment, proud. No one had helped her, she had screamed as loud as she could but it was as if her mouth had been filled with cotton because no one had thrown her a life jacket, no one had even acknowledged the fact that she had been drowning in the first place. But here she was, all on her own account, and she was glad.

She turned, expecting nothing from the world except pain in the future, but she knew she could handle it, anything it threw at her she could handle, she was sure. Confident, she took a few steps in the sand, determination racking through her being because she would not drown again.

Too quick though everything changed, as life tends to do, and she found herself looking into the eyes of a boy. He stood there and looked back at her for a moment, then his eyes wandered to her wrist where her scars lied and he brushed his fingertips against the pale skin that resided there. A shiver ran through her body, chasing after it an emotion she had never felt before. She had built walls around herself, to protect herself from drowning again because she had not gone into the water by her choosing but had been thrown into it, then held down to choke on the water that surrounded her. Walls she had constructed so that no one could see her, so that no one could reach her. Sure, she would appear cold, maybe even distant, but it was all for the greater good, she needed them, they were her only protection. But as the boy looked back at her with eyes the same color of the water she had been fighting through, the walls she had taken so much time to construct were invisible.

He walked toward her effortlessly, as if he had found a hidden door in her fortress, one she hadn't even known existed and he held the key. She had never been so terrified and thrilled in the same exact moment. Terrified because this stranger, this boy, had the key to her, he had full access to her and she was his to hold or throw away. Terrified because she was vulnerable to him, that he had all the power in the universe to thrown her back into the roaring ocean. Thrilled because it didn't matter what he could do, because the feeling he provoked in her by just being there sent her veins aflame.

"You're beautiful," he said as if it were the only true fact in the whole world, his eyes unwavering as they stared into hers. She was dripping wet, weak from swimming, scarred and bruised and he thought she was beautiful? How could it be that someone as glorious as he, someone as graceful and strong could think that someone so unworthy was beautiful? Her knees trembled, and he smiled at her and took her hand, spinning her to face the ocean once again.

"I can't," she mumbled, looking at the ripping waves, "I'm afraid,"

"You don't have to be," he said, squeezing his hand where his fingers intertwined with hers so perfectly, "because this time you have me."

Crime and Punishment

I don't know much about love. I don't know if it even exists. I've seen people "in love" then at the slightest conflict or amount of time it shatters and splinters underneath the firm grips of their hands. I've seen "love" tear people down to their knees only to bleed and burn in sorrow after they were hurt so badly they couldn't get back up. From what I know love can't actually kill someone.

But I don't know much about love.

I know what love isn't, though. I know that it's not like having a partner in crime, or like the rush of running from the government when you've broken the law. I know love isn't easy, but neither is making a living.

People think sometimes that Rodney and I are in love, I never correct them, because to their eyes I'm sure that's what it seems like, but we have something more than that. Something unbreakable. Something as concrete as the amount of time needed to serve in jail, or the amount of money lying in the bottom of a vault. Love isn't that. Love isn't concrete.

But partners in crime? That's concrete.

"Violet," Rodney hissed lowly, he knew I was having an off day, that I was thinking too much like some girls do. I had always told myself I wasn't like other girls, that's how I convinced myself to steer away from un-needed emotions. I was stronger than that, smarter than that, better than that. I almost said sorry, but then I remembered that Rodney told me that criminals never apologize, of course he was right.

"Hm?" I asked, making eye contact with those brooding brown eyes.

"Do you have your head in the game? We can't go stomping around inside the City Bank unless you're ready to go." Rodney's face was cold, he always got distant like that before we went on a job, he separated himself from the world, like peeling a sticker off a piece of paper. I had always been envious of that, I never could completely detach myself like he could, that's why he was a killer and I wasn't, he always said. I didn't mind death, death was just another part of the law we had to run from. Just another cop with a gun, and I had outrun too many of those too count. Death didn't scare me, pain did.

"Of course I have my head in the game," I said a little coldly, lifting the strap of the small bag higher on my shoulder. Explosives were our signature, I take credit for that idea, we'd always blow the place halfway to kingdom come after we got the goods, it left less room for evidence to be found, though we never left any behind.

"Good, we can't make any mistakes." He turned back to the corner of the wall, his light brown hair ruffling in the breeze the open window provided lazily. It was a warm night, August was my favorite month, it reminded me of the summers I spent in Missouri chasing fireflies and staying up late to go to the small carnivals around the country side. This was going to be the last robbery of the year, Rodney always liked to hide out somewhere exclusive for the whole winter, "Robbery is a summer's job," he always said, though it  felt like summer all year round to me, we always went some where tropical.

"How long is the gap between camera swivels?" I whispered, staring at his neck and profile because I couldn't peer around the corner with him.

"There's a 3 second gap behind each column, they're consecutive with 2 seconds in between, so we're going to have to move fast. I'll go, then you'll go. Mind the bag," Then just like that he was gone, around the corner like he had never been there at all. I silently moved to his place and watched him wind behind the columns like a greedy serpent, it made him look like he could spit poison if he really wanted to. I blinked twice and he was to the other side of the large marble room, his face stern and expressionless. I hated when he did that, it always made his eyes seem closer to black then to the soft brown they actually were. He whipped his hand forward, my signal to follow, and i did it effortlessly.

Speed and stealth had always been something I was good at, I could be quiet and quick, that was easy. Talking, though, saying how I felt, that was difficult. That's why Rodney and I were so close, he knew what I thought, we were similar in a lot of ways, and I didn't need to speak much. Rodney was the only one I spoke to anyways, it was just him and I, but I liked it like that.

I slid softly into him, unable to keep the grin off my face, that's where we were opposites. I was good at what I did because I enjoyed it, Rodney was good because he was focused. He didn't like it when I smiled during a job, so he scowled at me. I hated it, because when he did it he always made me feel like a little girl, when I wasn't. I was only 2 years younger than him, but he thought he had some superiority over me, that was something my Mom had always told me men had hardwired into them, the sense that they were better.

"Violet," he said lowly, maybe like a parent would. I narrowed my eyes at him, he knew I hated that.

"Keep it up and I'm going to take all the money for myself," I hissed, but he knew as well as I did that wasn't true. Partners in crime were in it together, they made the money together and, if it happened, they got punished together too. To be a criminal you had to be smart, clever, know that you can't trust anyone but that you can drag them down with you. To be in love you had to be dumb, no one in their right mind would love, it's too much risk. Too much chance.

But I didn't know much about love.

"The vault is right behind those wooden doors in the back. There should be two security guards in there, I'll take them out and then you can crack the code." Rodney said, he didn't seem as nervous anymore.

"Alright," I whispered back, adrenaline spiking my veins. Rodney moved forward, swift like a ghost ready to scare someone, and ripped through the door. He let it shut behind him, and I could hear the muffled screams of someone. I knew it wasn't Rodney, I had heard him scream once, it reminded me of a man who's soul had been ripped out of him to literally be dragged to hell. It was terrifying, something I had always remembered and saw in my worst nightmares, I hated to see him in pain. I heard that people in love hurt as bad as their lover did when in pain, as if they shared the same skin. That didn't make sense though, no one could feel someone else's pain. Every pain felt was a source of your own, the aching in my heart when I saw Rodney upset wasn't the same pain he felt when he was actually hurt. The notion that people in love hurt with each other, that's ridiculous.

But I don't know much about that.

There was a thud against the floor in the adjacent room but I could barely hear it because my heart was pounding so loud. Doubt crept into my mind for half a moment before the door swung open and then I was flooded with relief when Rodney stuck his head around the corner. He was smiling now, the first time I had ever seen him smile on a job. I smiled back, I couldn't help it, but this time Rodney didn't scowl at me, which made my stomach hurt in a weird way.

I walked through the door silently, then I saw why he had been smiling, there was blood, lots of it. Rodney had always thought blood was beautiful, I would never forget the time I walked into the hotel room to find him with his arm sliced vertically, the blood pumping out of him and into the bath tub while he watched in fascination. He wasn't afraid or in pain, he looked up at me and smiled, like a child would have if his mother had walked in on him eating cookies out of the forbidden jar, the smile that said "I know this is wrong, but I don't give a shit what you think". I had taken him to the hospital where they had given him 13 stitches, that was Rodney's lucky number. I had adopted it as my own, our lucky number.

"God damn it," I whispered without having any real kind of regret toward it.

"Don't worry," Rodney said as he stroked my hair, "we never get caught." The look in his eye was made just for me, those brooding brown eyes always seemed a shade lighter when he was looking at me. From what I had been told, love was something that you would know when it was found. That there was a certain look or spark, that when the kiss came around there were fireworks behind your eyelids. I had never seen fireworks and I had kissed Rodney a lot. The worst that happened when I kissed him was that my heart quickened, like it did when we were on a job.

But I wasn't in love with thievery, either.

I nodded and went to the safe, my black gloves a second skin I was more comfortable in than my actual porcelain layer underneath. The safe clicked open effortlessly, never even locked. Panic and fear flashed hot down my spine, filling my veins with a toxin that made my muscles shaky. It was too late, though, my body had reacted too slowly. The thundering boom of the gun had already gone off, the earsplitting sound of the crack when his skull hit the floor had already speared into my chest. As soon as the sound registered in my mind my body went cold, all the warmth I had ever felt in my life, the sunny days on the beach next to him, it was all ripped away.

I turned, the sound still in the air, everything was a fog except for him. Ink in my eyes, masking the surrounding, blotting it out so there was just him. Him. Motionless, on the floor, lying in a pool of his favorite color, his skin as pale as the marble he laid on. I had no lungs to breathe, no mind to think, no heat to live, and the heart I once had would no longer beat. Not without him.

One time I heard someone say that true love was like "Getting away with murder, you're afraid of getting caught because you know you have something that you should be punished for. True love, something so good you can't believe life hasn't stolen it away yet."

I didn't know much about that, about life punishing someone for love.

But getting away with murder, we had done that. We had gotten away with murder for years, but now it didn't matter, because it had all caught up to us in a matter of seconds. They said love could end within seconds, shatter and break in just a moment.

Yeah, I knew everything about that.

Admit It.

The girl walked slowly into the coffee shop in spite of the nipping cold outside, fear was already deeply set into her skin, the cold couldn't affect her now. She gripped onto a lined piece of paper, one that had been folded and dampened with tears, one that had made broken sobs rip through her chest as she wrote it. A piece of paper that had taken every ounce in her body to construct, words that had been dug into her skin as scars but could never be said aloud.

She knew he would be late, or maybe she was just early out of nervous fashion. The thought of him getting there before her made her want to vomit, she could take him walking in and greeting her, but her walking to greet him made the situation dark and turn knots in her stomach. She ordered a coffee, not paying attention to what it actually was, too sick to drink it and too paranoid to sit in a place as such alone without one. Her hands were white as bone as they clasped around the cup, not the usual soft ivory they portrayed in better circumstances, and she sat ram-rod straight in a too soft green cushion one would usually slouch in.

He walked in, his jaw clenched as his eyes swung over the cafe with a curious but guarded stare. Of course she would ask him to meet her at the coffee shop he had forbidden her to drink at when she was a pre-teen, young children like that didn't need coffee, it would stunt their growth and probably poison some part of their brain. She was 17 now, she could drink as much coffee as she wanted, clearly this was a statement she had been trying to prove to him a long time, I can do anything I want. 

He saw her sitting in the corner, though he barely recognized her now, she looked sick. Her face was drawn and pale white, her back straight with her hands shaking ever so slightly, but what surprised him was her expression. The scowl he had been greeted with over the past 2 years whenever he was present or in the room, the one that had burned straight into his soul, had been wiped away, and in the shadow of it's former hard shell was an expressionless flat line accompanied by reddened eyes that screamed You hurt me. His breath caught at the change, but he put on that stupid smile, the one he always put on when he saw her in public. Why didn't she care? Didn't she know what people would think of her tear stained face?

The smile he gave her made her heart do two things, break in half once more because it just told her once more I'm doing just fine, and then consumed itself in an inferno of hot flames of utter hatred that made her want to scream and weep at the same exact moment. The tears came first, though, and she had to bite her lip to keep them from spilling over. She shouldn't have done this. It was too soon, she wasn't strong enough. She probably would never be strong enough. Closure, closure, she needed this though, she needed to stitch the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

He sat across from her, the smile still plastered on his lips and she had to remember to breathe. Words came with oxygen.

"Hi," He said, and at that exact moment she could have ripped his lips from his face and left the conversation at that. Hi, not a Hello or a What's Wrong? Just Hi. His face had aged considerably, though this is the first time she had really looked at it in 2 years, he looked his age for once, instead of the eternally youthful father that had spent his free time jumping on the trampoline and giggling with her. He didn't look half as old as her mother had come to look in the past 2 years, though. So, it wasn't good enough for her, not enough. It wasn't enough pain for her. He couldn't have possibly escaped this unscathed, no, not when she had bled as much as she had. Not as much as her family had bled.

"I'm not here for small talk," she choked out, her voice was frosty, the hate for him still resided there it just wasn't as apparent at the moment. He was grateful for that, it felt like some kind of victory for him.

"What are you here for?" He asked, he had never been good with conversation with her. Not since she had been a teenager.

"What the fuck do you think I'm here for?" She spat, her blue saucers of eyes shining with tears. Her language took him aback, and a hot lick of anger ripped through him.

"Excuse me?" He asked with a blink, the smile wiping off of his face completely. "Don't talk to me like that."

"Don't talk to you like that," she said with a scoff, something she did out of pain as much as sarcasm, "You hold no authority over me to tell me how to or not to talk." Her hostility made him reinforce his guard, the anger burning hotter and the want for power over her re-surfacing. He could never control her, God knew his mom wouldn't help him either.

"Young ladies don't use that language, and certainly not to people they should respect." He said in almost a monotone. She thought she could have done this without yelling, wanted to, but the emotion was bubbling and coming in hot.

"Why in hell should I respect you? What have you possibly given me to respect you for?" She hissed and her face was red with anger, her voice thick with emotion.

"Why are we here?" He asked, letting the comment go. She gripped her coffee cup tighter and sucked in a breath, he just stared, jaw set.

"It's been over a year." She said simply, and his jaw tightened, "It's been over a year since I had the right to call you Dad. It's been a year since I've spoken to you, really actually had a conversation. It's been over a year since you tore my fucking family to shreds and didn't apologize for it." Anger, hot and fast, ripped through his veins.

"Your family?" He spat, his voice hostile now.

"Yes!" She said, tears rolled down her face this time, her jaw set. "My family. They're not yours any more. None of them."

"Isaac's-" she knew he would say that. Something about his biological son. Something about he was still his, that he still had Isaac.

"Fuck you. Fuck you for only thinking of him. You only ever think about him." She was shaking her head, the tears were faster now, the scowl was back but there was that crippling undertone of pain there too.

"He's my son-" He started but her scoff cut him off.

"Your son. You know who was your son before him? Isaiah was. My brother was your son before your son was. You were his dad, the only one he really ever knew. And you left him in the dust. You chose Isaac over him, you dropped him as if you never met him a day before in your life. Do you know what it's like? To have your very own father walk out on you like you never meant a thing to him? Do you know what you put him through? And it's not even him. My mom. Do you know what you put her through? Do you even fucking care? And you walk in here, and you ask me Why, well, why do you think I'm here? It's not for a chit-chat over some coffee." Her breathing was unsteady, her petite chest rising and falling and it reminded him of an angry humming bird.

"No I don't know what it's like, but it wasn't working, you-"

"It's not about me! This isn't about me! No one ever says what they think, so I have to do it for them. I have to fight for them because you gave up the fight. Answer to them, for their sake, not for mine. I think you're shit, but for God's sake answer to your mistakes! Admit you did something wrong, admit you were wrong, admit that you did something horrible to us and that you didn't even care! Admit it." Her voice rose as she got to the end, her coffee cup starting to crumple under her grip. The fire she was providing reminded him of the one argument him and her mother had had, when it had gotten rough, the yelling out of control, she had stood between them, her arms out protecting her mother and brothers, a look of determination in her eyes that read she would stop a train from hitting them even if it tore her body to shreds. Screaming at him to leave, not a tear shed though everyone behind her was cowering and sobbing. She had always butt her head in places it didn't need to be. The same look was in her eyes now.

"It wasn't just me, it was everything, it wasn't working! None of  this is solely my fault, your mom had a part in this too. You had a part in this."

"We loved you, you know. You were our Dad. You were our rock. That was you, and somehow that's all torn away and you can sit here and say 'It wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault', well then what was your fault? Can you kneel before the King and say 'I'm clean, I'm clean!'? Can you?" her voice was low, a mere whisper, her tears puddling onto the table.

"What do you know about the King? What do you know about God? How dare you use that against me!" his voice was raising, he had to check himself, people were starting to stare.

"You can't answer the question. You can't answer because your guilty, your hands are as black as mine and yet you can't even man up and make your peace. Your problems don't just go away by scooting them under the rug, they'll find you, and they'll burn you just like mine are burning me."

"What do you know about guilt, about black hands? What can you possibly know about mistakes burning you? You're a child, you don't know anything." She was being ridiculous, of course she was, she always wanted to be grown up, older than she was. Drinking coffee too early in life, cursing and back talk.

"I know a lot. I've had to grow up a lot in the past year, I've had to deal with a lot of grown up emotions, things you clearly can't even embrace, a grown man." She said, a dagger in his side.

"And how do you know I can't embrace them?" He barked, too loud, too loud, but they didn't care. Not anymore.

"Because you sit there, and you deny your faults! Because after a year and a half you still haven't talked about what happened with us! Because I've been waiting all this time for something, an apology, a conversation.. something. But you run, and you treat us like strangers, and you smile that stupid fucking smile in public like there was nothing wrong. And I hate it because I just want you to be as torn up inside as I am. I want you to feel as dejected and forgotten as Isaiah. I want you to feel the weight of responsibility Jacob feels to be the Father when he's only as old as me. I want you to feel the broken heart of my mother times ten, and I want you to see the split you've put in Isaac's life. But you ignore everything! We're always just strangers, nothing more. How can you just let us go? How can us not being there not affect you?" Her words were hardly audible, she was full out sobbing now, it was racking through her body. But then she said a sentence that struck him to his core, something that made his facade shatter to rubble.

She looked up at him, those eyes wide and watery, hurt and no hate in them at all, just pure sorrow, ripping agony, and she said, "Didn't you love us too?" It was like a wind tunnel, sucking him into a vortex of memories he had long since forgotten. And it was her, there, with her wire rimmed glasses and her crooked teeth aligned in a perfect smile. Her white blonde hair was pulled back into a pony table and she was wearing her favorite t-shirt, and he remembered when he was proud to call her his daughter. What had happened to her?

He was back then, staring at this teenage girl, her eyes watering as the question remained in the air. No, nothing wrong with her, something wrong with him. He had done something awful, something terrible, and he tried to go down the line, to find the first mistake. It was a tangled thread, bad decisions all the way down and all of his faults were there, staring into his face and burning his eyes.

"Can you kneel before the King and say 'I am clean, I am clean'?" The words echoed in his mind and reached his core, a broken note escaped from his lips and he felt as though the world were crashing onto his shoulders for a moment.

"Tell me what was wrong with us loving you? Tell me what we did wrong, tell me something. Because I'm tired of pretending nothing ever happened. I just need some kind of closure. I need to know why we weren't good enough. Why I wasn't good enough. Why we weren't worth the effort. Tell me something that will stitch up the wound you've put into me. Because I loved you, and that damn well should be reason enough."