I Was Wrong.

Short story for @small-fortunes' #weekly writer's prompt ! This was alot of fun to do and when I started I couldn't stop- I apologise if it goes off the rails slightly I haven't practiced in a while!

They stood there, facing each other down from across the room amidst a cacophony of noise.

Ed’s mind was crumbling. It was crumbling as he was desperately trying to pick up the fragments, to understand. The delicate and complex machinery of his brain had failed. He knew it would happen one day, one day he wouldn’t understand.

But that day had come earlier than he had expected. But that’s the irony of it; It had failed because he couldn't comprehend his current situation. It wasn’t predictable. His greatest ally had failed.

His mind had now blurred into one white slab as he shakily fell to his knees. He felt Oswald’s demeaning gaze piercing his head.

“I have a riddle for you, Ed.”

No! No more riddles Oswald please he pleaded silently, his ears ringing as an explosion crumbled the building next to them.

“A nightmare for some. For others, a saviour I come.”

Colourful lights flashed past Ed’s closed eyelids as Oswald began limping closer, clutching his cane.

“My hand’s cold and bleak. It’s the warm hearts they seek.”

Oswald hobbled closer as Ed knelt on the floor, hands protectively over his head. He savoured seeing Ed in such a weak, vulnerable position.

“What’s the answer, riddler?” He mocked, eyes pointed.

Ed didn’t answer. He was still trying to piece his mind back together. Whatever Oswald had done to it, whatever he had done, he would fix it. He would.

Oswald was getting impatient.

“Answer me!” he yelled threateningly, raising his cane and striking his face aggressively.

Ed flinched as blood trickled from his now bruised cheek. What had put them in this situation? How had it turned out like this? He tried to rewind his mind back, to find the missing information, but it was corrupted. The tape had burnt out and broke.

“I-I don’t know” Ed muttered, his voice cracking as he weakly looked up to Oswald. 

His brain felt like it had been pulled apart and that a toddler was attempting to fit it back together; like some cheap, colourful puzzle to challenge the child’s mental capacity. 

That’s all it was now.

Oswald smirked approvingly, crouching down so that his eyes were level with Ed’s.

“What was that?” 

He sneered, making an ‘i can’t hear you gesture’ with his hand.

Ed’s eyes dimmed as the last of his reputation was pulled from him. He feebly looked up at Oswald, his gaze focusing in an out at random.

“I don’t know!” 

He sobbed, his bones shaking as he fell into a heap.

Oswald laughed heartily. It was a horrible, maniacal laugh that made Ed’s eyes sink into their skull. Oswald suddenly took hold of Ed’s suit and shook it violently, making Ed look into his eyes. 

“Look at me” he spat

“Look at me and see how you have failed. How, because of me, your whole life has begun falling around you. Look at me and see fear. You have nothing, Edward Nygma. Not me, not Gotham, not even your own Mind.”

Ed sobbed harder. “What did you do…”

Oswald laughed again as Ed heard a click as he drew a pistol. He loaded it and pressed it into the side of Ed’s head.

“Look around you, Ed. Look out the windows. Look properly.”

Ed slowly turned his head to look. It was Gotham. In ruins.

“This is my fault, Ed. I did this! I bet you hate me now, don’t you?” Oswald shook him violently again.

Ed didn’t respond, he just stared solemnly at Oswald. There was a pause as Ed closed his eyes, wishing this wasn’t real.

Oswald smiled and rested his finger on the trigger of the gun.

“The answer was death, Edward. Ha! Couldn’t even answer his own riddle. So this is what I've reduced you to, Hm? Well, not to gloat but i think i’ve done a pretty good job myself” He smiled gleefully and gave himself a mental pat on the back.

“Look at you! Wow, the great Riddler, no longer safe in his own body! Your own Mind hates you!” He tilted his head to the side “Well, I might as well put you out of your misery. You’re ruining the mood” He frowned. 

“Oh, also, the answer was death!” He chuckled and pulled the trigger.

Ed’s pupils dilated as he realised what was happening. He welcomed it. His world was no more. He had nothing left.

He heard the click of the pistol and felt a sharp pain. He felt his conscious splattered against the floors and walls of Gotham. He felt his mind obliterated, and he felt the cold. The cold was the worst of it. The endless cold that never stopped. 

It crept over his whole being, inside and out. It grasped him and held him tightly.

It suffocated him, and his mouth constantly gasped for freedom. But it never came.

No. What?

That’s wrong. Is it?

How did this happen? You know.

What happened…? You know!

No, he wouldn’t do this. Would he?

This is wrong. It’s completely correct!

No. Yes! 

Ed’s mouth finally gasped the freedom and warmth that he had searched for, as he was plunged upright through the cold waters of death suddenly. His pupils were small and his gaze shook as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He coughed dryly and wheezed for air.

“Ed..?”

 He flinched as he heard that voice, and slowly turned his head to see Oswald looking at him, confused.

“What happened, you look like you’ve seen Fish Mooney’s ghost”

He chuckled lightly and reached over to hold Ed’s shoulder reassuringly. Ed flinched away from his touch, and raised his hands defensively. He took a sharp breath in as he realised he was covered in a cold sweat.

“N-no leave me alone, I know what you did! I saw you!”

He began muttering inaudibly, his eyes growing wide as he sat face to face with the person who had just killed him.

Oswald frowned and shook his head gently.

“Ed… I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t real… it was just a nightmare”

Ed didn’t seem convinced.

Oswald slowly raised his hand and cupped Edward’s cheeks gently. Oswald’s touch was warm, and Ed melted into it, slowly warming up.

It was enough to reassure him, and suddenly he felt a heavy stone in his stomach. He hadn’t trusted Oswald, of all people!

“I’m sorry Oswald… I didn’t mean it, I don’t know what came over me…” 

He rested his head on Oswald’s shoulder as Oswald smiled and embraced him. It was just a dream. That was all. Oswald wouldn’t do that… He smiled as he realised the truth, and relaxed into Oswald’s touch.

“Hey, Ed?” He queried softly.

“Mmm?” Hummed Ed, closing his eyes.

“I have a riddle for you.”

The ending is left open for interpretation!

I Will Love You, Because You’re My Lady Human

I’m little, Lady Human. Tiny right now. Very small. And a little nervous and a little scared. There’s much happening around me. I was told by Mummy and Daddy that I would one day be selected by a Human family to be part of their Forever Home.  That I would have to grow up big and strong to care for them. To do them the big Protect! Because that is my purpose. So give me time, and love and cuddles. Let me play and eat and sleep. Please don’t be cross at me, if I make a mistake or make a mess. I’m learning Lady Human. Learning to walk on my big boy paws. And I’m listening to what you tell me. Even if all the words don’t make complete sense yet. I’m still listening. And I love you! Because you’re my Lady Human.

Don’t be the sad, Lady Human. I’m here for you now. You gave me my name! I’m Cerberus. That is a good name for me. A strong name! I will come when you call me.

Remember, you have your family, your friends, your amusements and your entertainment. But me....All I have is you. And I will always love you.... because you’re my Lady Human. 

This whole thing is coming down...

I THINK THERE’S A FLAW IN MY CODE

|| Coming cold, the Winter whispers of dark secrets in the night. The haze of ice and snow crystalises the moth's wings in the chilled air. All is quiet as the world prepares itself to sleep. A day, a week, a month.... Until the first kiss of Spring. And I remember you. ||

“He comes in shadows, moves in silence. The Baba Yaga they call him. Prince of the Underworld. He got out once. He completed an impossible task that served to pave the foundations for a generation. That built on blood and bodies the glory that we know today. We have wronged him. It was more than just the car. More than just the puppy. He came back for vengeance. He came back for love. He told me to tell the world no matter who comes, he’s going to kill them all. I believe him.” - Winston. The Continental. New York City. 

“And [director of photography] Dan Laustsen, with his… He loves that little key light in the eyes. [Keanu] you were always getting the half-face lighting, the one eye, and the other guy in most of the scenes was always getting the two eyes. That was another plan. One eye versus the two eyes.” —Chad Stahelski, taken from the John Wick: Chapter 2 director’s commentary.

H. R. Giger

Swallow

What they tell you.

When they tell you.

As part of the biomechanical environ.

Keep breathing.

In

Out

When will you stop being part of the system?

When will you breathe without the pipeline to the rest of the network?

R.I.P Helen Wick

"It is under the shelter of each other that we flourish." ~ Irish proverb

Trope challenge JohnxHelen

Prompt: I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!

Some days didn’t end. This one certainly wasn’t about to anytime soon. In fact, it had successfully earned a spot in Helen’s top three bad days of all time and I once lived in a house with twelve girls and two bathrooms.

Jesus.

I run my fingers through my hair, the stress seeping through me. I slam my fist against the door, fully aware that it will do me no good. I fucked up. I massively fucked up.

I had been in such a hurry to make it to my new job on time after oversleeping that I had grabbed the wrong keys. Rather than my new little house that I had scraped enough together to set a downpayment for, I had grabbed the keys to my old apartment out of habit.

I set my head against my door, eyes closed as the rain pours just feet away. Between the hectic and overwhelming first day at work and the lack of a vehicle, I’m ready to pass out and not wake up. I’m already soaked from the mile it took to walk back from the bus stop.

But I can’t get inside.

I loop around the house in a last, desperate plea to the universe to have had past me leave a window open. No such luck.

“Fuck!” I scream, coming back around to the front.

I’m in the rain now. There is no point in seeking shelter as I am soaked to the bone.

I rub my temple.

I’m locked out.

I haven’t made a spare set of keys.

My best hope was the realtor office in New York City, which was thirty minutes by car, much longer by bus.

I reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I still have the number of the realtor saved but as I turn the phone on, I am only met with a blank screen. I click it on again. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” I half-sob, trying a hard restart. Nothing.

Water damage. That was the only explanation. I hadn’t protected it and the poor phone hadn’t stood a chance in this utter downpour. I couldn’t even check the bus schedule or call for a taxi to take me to the train station.

I close my eyes and count to ten, even as my body shakes in the cold.

Radical acceptance, I remind myself. I preach it every day to kids I have worked with. Some things are beyond my control. I cannot change the circumstance. I can only accept them and move on.

God, no wonder my kids thought I was nuts.

How the hell was I supposed to accept this?

I don’t know when the next bus is coming but my only other choice is to break a window. And I can’t afford to fix that, not yet.

No point in wasting time. I walk to the end of my driveway. I chose the house because it was affordable. Partially because of its size, and partially because it’s in the middle of nowhere.

The realtor had told me that there were no neighbors close by. There were a few closer to town down by the bus stop but I had been warned that the homes were gang affiliated. The other was a man about half a mile up the road. I hadn’t met him and the realtor told me not to expect to. The old owners had lived at the house for six years and they had never spoken a word.

I like the road itself. On a bright day, it’s peaceful. You can almost forget how nearby Jersey City is just listening to the birds chirping and the quiet rustle of the trees. Today, though, it seemed unending.

I see headlights on the trees before I see the car. It’s small and black and must belong to the man up the street. No one else comes this way.

The car slows down and pulls off to the side, coming to a stop ten feet ahead of me.

The door opens and a man steps out. “Need a ride?”

He’s tall and handsome. Dark hair down to his shoulders with a beard to match. He was wearing a three-piece suit. He doesn’t seem to mind that its being quickly drenched in the downpour.

I shake my head, “Just going to the bus station.”

“The bus doesn’t come back around until nine tonight.” That’s what I was afraid of. “Are you the new owner of the little blue house?”

I nod.

“Where are you trying to get to.”

“New York.”

He nods, assessing the situation. “Why don’t you go home and change and I’ll drive you to the train station?”

Fuck, I really don’t want to have to admit this to myself let alone the attractive neighbor.

“It’s okay.” I tell him, “I’m fine with walking.“

"And waiting in the rain? At least let me take you back home so you can dry off and wait there.”

“I’m locked out,” I say, and I’m suddenly desperate to explain myself to this stranger. “I grabbed the wrong keys and my phone is water damaged and I sold my fucking car to get enough money for a downpayment on the house.”

He nods, “is there a set of keys in New York?”

I shrug, “it’s where the realtor is. It’s my best shot at getting in.”

“I live a mile up the road. Why don’t you come with me, get dried off. We can look up to see if the realtor is even open this late.”

“I…” it’s far too much to ask a stranger, “I can’t ask you-”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Please.”

The rain was pouring down around us. Two minutes to help a stranger and he was as soaked as I was.

I bite my lip, “are you sure?”

He nods and motions towards the passenger door.

I notice the logo on the car as I get closer. He’s driving a Mustang.

Fuck.

I open the door and he climbs back in. The seats are leather and I can’t imagine what sitting on them soaked will do.

“Don’t give a damn about the seats.” He says, “come on.”

I slide in and he turns the heat up. I only notice now just how fucking cold I am.

He starts the car. I wrap my arms around my middle and clench my jaw to try and stop the chattering of my teeth.

“Thank you,” I say as he drives us up the road.

He nods. “I’m John.”

“Helen,” I reply. “I, uh, obviously just moved in.”

The corner of John’s mouth twitches. “You work in New York?”

“Jersey City. I’m a social worker.”

The twitch becomes a smirk. “That’s a place that needs it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Not only was my new place of employment massively understaffed, but the entire city was also lacking enough social workers to reach all the adolescents in need of support.

He drives through an open white gate and his house comes into view. Christ. It’s modern. Sleek. A mansion in its own right, sloped and slated. I can’t even imagine what he must do. He taps a button attached to his sun visor and the first of a four garage spots opens. He pulls in and I see no other cars.

He puts the car into park and climbs out easily. I unbuckle my belt and follow. Everything is white. Pristine. I’m almost afraid to step on the floor but I am more afraid to make him wait. I hurry after him as he walks up to the door.

We come up into a huge living room.

“I have a shower upstairs you can use. Warm up.”

“Please.”

We go up another set of stairs. There’s a small hallway with a few bookcases and a set of leather chairs. There’s an open door to a bedroom. Plain and white walls with white furniture. He enters and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him. He opens a bureau and pulls out a dark grey henley and a pair of black sweatpants.

“Shower’s through here.”

I follow him into the room and to the master bath. Christ. The view from his balcony is gorgeous, looking out over the green hills. The bathroom itself is huge. There is a large shower, stand only, with blue tiles. The shower alone was the size of the bathroom at my old apartment. He sets the clothes down on a vanity table and pulls a towel from beneath it.

“Take your time.” He tells me and leaves me alone. As soon as the door closes, I undress, desperate to get these wet clothes off. I let them fall to the floor and cross the room, turning on the shower.

The water pressure is amazing, the warmth spilling from the faucet and over me.

I stay under the water until I no longer feel my teeth chatter and then I wrap up in the fluffy towel supplied to me.

I dress quickly, drying my hair with the towel.

His clothes smell so fucking good.

I step out of the bathroom. His bedroom is empty but his clothes are left, airdrying, on a hook by the door.

I follow the path that I came up, through the door, down the stairs. He walks out from a door as I come down the stairs.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

He nods, “It’s a bit late for coffee but I have some. Or tea.”

“Honestly, with the day I’m having, I’ll take coffee.”

That corner of his mouth twitches yet again. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Cream. No sugar.” I follow him into the kitchen. He has a laptop set up on the breakfast bar. I climb up on a stool. “Can I…?”

He nods and I search up my realtor. Office hours… closed at five.

“Fuck.”

“Closed.”

“Yes.” I rest my head against my hand. Next step, next step…

“I might be able to help.” He hands me a plain green mug and I gulp down the bitter drink.

“You’ve already helped me so much.”

He smiles softly and climbs up onto the stool next to me. “I had… a rocky past as a kid. May or may not have done some breaking and entering. Do you know what kind of lock you have?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It’s standard in the knob lock.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Five minutes, tops.”

“Seriously?”

John nods. “Honestly, my advice to you is to get a new lock. A couple. Houses without obvious security, especially away from neighbors, are easy targets. You would have been a classic mark back in my day.”

I smile, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll go grab my tools. Take your time.”

I nod my thanks.

He comes back with a handful of lock picks.

“Jeez.”

“I was quite the rebel.”

“I imagine. What do you do now?”

“Contracting. Political.”

I hum, “In New York?”

He nods, “Center of political culture.”

“How’d you get into that?”

“I was recruited. What about you? How did you get into social work?”

I sip at my coffee as he sits back next to me. “I was a foster kid.”

John nods in understanding, “I grew up in an orphanage in Belarus till I came to the US at six.”

“Dead or abandoned?” I wouldn’t ask so carelessly for most people but I got the feeling he was like me. It had been coped with and he had moved on.

“Dead. Dad died before my mom even know she was pregnant and she died giving birth. You?”

“Taken from the home when I was four. I had an aunt who tried to adopt me and got in the way of any couples adopting me until I was eleven. And eleven-year-olds in the foster system…” I shrug, “Bounced around some. Group homes for a bit during the teen years. Then back in foster care until I aged out.”

John nods again, “This world is fucked. I ran away the people raising me when I was fourteen.”

“Street life?”

He nodded. “I was lucky that I could pass for eighteen as soon as the beard came in. Picked up jobs where I could find them.”

“Broke into houses when you couldn’t?” I asked, not unkindly.

“Something like that.”

I finish my coffee.

“It’s hard, trying to navigate the world without guidance.”

“But you had a good social worker?”

I shake my head, “God no. He was the fucking worst. Maybe he just had too many kids on his caseload but I was at the bottom of his list. He would ignore my calls, not call me back for weeks at a time. Didn’t listen when things were bad.” I shrug, “He’s why I became a social worker. Because I want the next generation to have it better than I did. So less kids fall through the cracks.”

I stand up from the chair and John leads me back down to the garage. I’m thankful we don’t have to go out into the rain just yet. It barely takes a minute to make it from his garage to my driveway and, this time, John has preppared us with an umbrella. He climbs out of the car with it and runs over to my side to open my door.

Together we rush up to my house.

John takes out a set of lockpicking tools and kneels at my door.

“Really glad no one drives down this road.” I say with a small smile, “I wouldn’t want to have to explain this.”

John chuckles and inserts two of the tools, eyes squinted in fixed concentration. I watch as he wiggles one of the peaces, tilting his head to the side in what looks like slight confusion.

“If you can’t get it, I can look for a locksmi–”

There is an audible click and John twists the knob open.

My mouth drops. I look to him and the open door in awe.

“That was it?”

He smirks and climbs to his feet, “Like I said, you need to get some new locks. Nothing with a tumbler. At the very least, you need a deadbolt. But even that can be picked.”

“Jeez. Thank you. So much. You literally just saved my day.”

“No problem.” He says picking up his tools, “I appreciated the company.” He opens the umbrella, about to walk back to his car.

“Think, maybe, you could teach me to pick locks sometime?” I ask, “You know, if you have the time.”

John gives me a nod with a soft smile. “Tomorrow?”

I nod back. “Tomorrow.”

Maybe it wasn’t the worst day.

How to Save Your Own Life, Erica Jong