literature

Death's Door

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Literature Text

  The manor was quiet like it always is when the Wayne’s aren’t home. They were out tonight celebrating a birthday. I like the silence sometimes. It allows me to think and get work done in peace; beautiful peace and quiet. I dust the mantel piece and my silence is interrupted. I hear footsteps, accompanied by a soft cry.  A grim knock came to the door. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong. I slowly walked to the door, my stomach dropping out of me. I kept my face calm, jaw locked. Let’s not jump to conclusions Alfred, I told myself. My hand touched the metal handle of the door to open it. Two detectives showing their shields came into my gaze as did a small boy known as Bruce Wayne. He was crying with a loud glass shattering shriek. His chest was heaving as his lungs were trying to get air and this mixed with his cry. His neat blue suit was soiled with his tears and drying blood. He was gripping the leg of the female detectives. His eyes were puffy and terrified. The cops removed their hats. What happened? Silence rang through as it seemed a lifetime passed with no words coming to me.
   “We’re sorry sir.” The male said, voice being forced to remain calm. I wanted to scream or run. I stayed calm for the young master was watching through his hysteria.
    “Th..ey.’re dddeead…. Alfred tttthhhere dead.”  His voice was broken and breathy. I didn’t know what to do, I could react. I couldn’t believe it. I stood not speaking and looking at him. Leaning down I picked the weeping child off the ground. “They were shot, a man came and shot Mommy and Daddy…Why Alfred Why?” his voice was calmer but still spoken with a raspy sob. The detectives looked lost in their own confusion. I thanked them and shut the door. They would come back tomorrow to question me. I took the limp clingy body up the endless stairs. I put him in a bath, having to clean him myself and dress him in his pajamas.
  The little boy never stopped crying and I knew he never would. He would hurt for the rest of his life. I too will never be the same. I will never forget the kind smile of Thomas Wayne or the loving Martha Wayne.  I will always remember the two people who had become my family. The family I always wanted. I wanted to join in the young master’s desperate scream for help. I won’t though. I must be strong for the boy. I can only allow a soft cry in silence when Bruce wasn’t looking. He never slept. The images of the night before flashing before him. The sharp shadow of a man, his gun barrel pointing at his mother. Her scream of death. His father’s fear. Their bodies going limp like dolls, shock crossing their glassy eyes. The faceless shadow of a murder leaving him alone with the bodies.
 The red and blue light up the dark dead alley. The police and EMTs filed in. The boy still on his knees. An EMT eyes looked over his mother, closing her open eyes. A strong arm pulled Bruce away from the crime scene. The boy kicked blindly and cried louder as the view of his parents vanished. Knocking on death’s door was a dangerous game. A game most always won by death.
Bruce Wayne in the night that changed his life forever. I wrote this piece in away that I have never seen anyone else do. The story is told form the point of view of a sideline character Alfred Pennyworth who in the long term ends up being important.


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Bruce, Thomas, and Martha Wayne; along with Alfred Pennyworth belong to DC comics.
© 2013 - 2024 NightmareDC
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goddess-of-fear's avatar
Wow this is amazing from when you first wrote it, i am really impressed you have developed a style when writing and i really really Just, its beautiful, i can feel Alfreds silent pain... Beautiful Hun just amazing