"Bad Son"

Warning: Disturbing imagery . . .

Dick stood frozen as he watched his parents fall. The sickening sounds that followed were loud in his ears; the thud of their bodies hitting the unforgiving ground, bones snapping. He was surprised he didn't fall as he raced down the ladder from the platform he had been standing on as he had waited for his turn on the trapeze. As he approached the contorted bodies, he hesitated.

A puddle of blood was forming beneath each of them. As he watched, horrified, the two puddles combined and began to slowly flow away from them; towards him. It resembled a kind of macabre, slow-moving river as it made its way through the sawdust; picking up some of the flakes and dust as it went. So much blood!

As it drew closer to him, Dick stepped back to avoid touching it, but it kept coming, so he stepped back again. And again. And again.

He frowned. There was so much of it; too much! It continued to flow in a straight line, so as it neared him the next time, Dick stepped aside out of the way. Impossibly, the blood shifted course until it was following him once again. Dick stepped the other way, but the blood reversed; moving back in his direction!

Afraid now, Dick climbed over the center ring. The blood pooled where it hit the ring, but then, as Dick watched, it seeped underneath the heavy ring. He ran to the empty bleacher and climbed halfway up, but the blood didn't stop. It became a lake beneath the metal stand and suddenly, as if the ground became quicksand beneath them, the bleachers began to sink.

Down, down until Dick was standing on the top with nowhere to go. The lake had widened to such a degree that he wasn't sure he could leap across it, but he couldn't stay here. When the blood was now inches from his feet, Dick bent his knees and pushed off with all of the strength that his eight year old body had in him. He fell short by a mere foot.

The blood of his parents splashed up; splattering him, getting in his eyes, his face, his hair. Unfortunately, like the bleachers, he too, began to sink. Dick struggled to lift his feet out of the thick, red mire, but it clung to him like glue. Worse! It wasn't satisfied waiting for him to sink beneath its surface. No, the blood began to creep up his legs; wrapping itself around him and tugging him down faster.

Dick clawed the ground, trying to get some hold, some purchase in which he could drag himself out and be free of it, but there was nothing! Just sawdust and dirt. He was in waist deep and still it kept rising.

Why? This was his parents' blood! Why was it trying to drag him under? To drown him? Was he supposed have died with them on the trapeze? Were they determined to draw him into the grave with them as well?

Dick loved his parents! He missed them so much . . . Would give anything to have them back, but he was quickly discovering that he didn't want to join them! He didn't want to die!

The blood was up to his chest and clinging to his arms; reaching upwards towards his face! It had substance! It had weight! It didn't feel wet, but heavy! It clawed its way to his chin and was trying to push its way into his mouth! It was going to consume him; fill him up and suffocate him from the inside out . . .

He tasted the tangy coppery flavor of blood and finally . . . finally, Dick opened his mouth, but it was too late to scream!

He hit the floor with a thud; his forehead thumping hard against the Aubusson rug that was far too expensive to be gracing the room of an almost nine year old boy. He was so entangled in his covers that he had had no hope of catching himself.

Startled, head ringing, Dick blinked as he took in details of his bedroom that he had been assigned by Alfred at the manor in the twilight provided by the nightlight across the room.

A dream! It had only been a dream . . . It had been a recurring one, but he never seemed to remember that while in the midst of it. Each time he had it, the blood had chased him farther. It had caught him a couple of nights ago, but never had it gotten so far before!

He struggled to free himself from his sheets and sat up. He frowned when he tasted copper. Touching his lip, he realized he had bitten it at some point; maybe when he fell out of bed. Climbing to his feet, he discovered that he was shaking still. He sat in the upholstered chair and drew up his feet; burying his face in his knees.

He had never been frightened of his parents before, but the dream had been really scary. Tears flowed down his face as he tried to think of what it meant. Were they mad at him because he had hesitated before jumping? He had never before missed his cue until that night. The unraveling of the wire had caught his attention though, and then it had snapped on the very next swing! Both of his parents had fallen to the ground.

Dick had missed his cue . . . He frowned when he considered that. He should have been out there with them when they fell. He had been meant to die with them!

Dick remembered the words that Bruce had told him that day at the lake a few months before; that his parents wanted him to be happy . . . He had believed him at the time. But now, this dream . . . It made him doubt Bruce's words to him for the first time.

Maybe that's why this nightmare had been returning every night. His parents were mad at him! Dick remembered, however, kneeling beside their broken bodies and seeing the look of fear frozen on their faces. It had scared him. No, he didn't want to die; not then and not now.

So . . . did this make him a bad son?

REACTIONS?

What about this one? Would it make it difficult to sleep at night if this nightmare was waiting for you?

Now, this one has a story behind it that I've been contemplating for a while. Months after the death of Dick's parents, just before his ninth birthday, the boy is struck with survivor's guilt. If he had jumped when he was supposed to, Dick would have fallen with his parents to their deaths. He begins to believe that because he lived this meant that he was a bad son.

What do you think? Would that be a story you would be interesting in reading one day?