* * *
PANEL:
A
close shot of BRUCE's eyes. They sting from the cold, and he hasn't
shut them for what seems like hours. The scene is brief, but he
doesn't dare close them. Not even when the gun fires. The muzzle
flash reflects across his watering eyes and the paleness of his face.
VO
BOX
They
tell you the older you get, the less you remember of the days you
were young.
VO
BOX
Don't
believe them.
VO
BOX
Not
a word of it.
PANEL:
THOMAS
WAYNE, we see the pain in his face. The long, hoarse sound he makes
we can't hear, but the veins in his neck are strained as the air
leaves his lungs. A tear rolls down his cheek. He's mid-hunch,
gripping at his chest with both hands. He doesn't care about the
seams in his shirt he must be ripping underneath as he clenches his
breast. He just wants to keep the blood in. He stares at the
ground, possibly the shoes of his killer, as BRUCE watches in the
background, stoic.
VO
BOX
I
was ten. And I saw it all.
PANEL:
THOMAS
WAYNE's hands clutch his wound in a close shot, the blood soaking a
wider and wider area of his nicely-pressed shirt, now wrinkled from
his gripping hands. His golden band of a wedding ring glistens in
the light of a streetpost we can't see. A single drop of blood drips
from between his fingers.
VO
BOX
You
never think of them as anything more than providers, do you?
VO
BOX
They're
just people that feed you the food you don't want to eat.
VO
BOX
Send
you to the schools you don't want to go to.
PANEL:
The
drop of blood is in freefall. It falls against a white background.
All eyes are on it.
VO
BOX
But
they're never human to a kid that age, are they?
PANEL:
The
drop of blood hits the pavement, but doesn't shatter into a moisture
stain on the ground. Instead it bounces-- it's a pearl. It bounces
twice across the panel with a "TINK", "TINK"
written in expensive lettering. The kind with lots of curves and
$100 finishes you'd see on an opera poster. This pearl, it bounces
among a few others, some lying against the curb on the edge of the
road. This one we watch, it bounces towards the gutter.
VO
BOX
They
don't feel. They don't get tired.
VO
BOX
They
don't bleed.
PANEL:
From
the radiance of the unseen streetlamp, the light it provides sends
beams into the gutter, broken-up by the grating above. Through this
choppy lighting, the bloody bead makes its way into darkness.
VO
BOX
Because
that's not their job. They're there to give you what you need. What
you want,
and nothing more.
VO
BOX
They're
supposed to buy you the things you want. Tell you the stories you
want.
VO
BOX
Take
you to the... movies
you
want.
PANEL:
MARTHA
WAYNE's face has always been the subject of front page news on all
the glossy magazines. But her hair isn't permed to a model-like
standard and her face in the panel isn't flattering like the one in
the papers. Her face is tilted up, like she's tilting her head back
for comfort, but the bangs of her hair touching her right eye as they
rest half-open, they tell you she doesn't need comfort anymore. Not
where she is now. If the way her mouth lies open is any indicator,
her last moment-- her last breath-- was a gasp.
VO
BOX
Some
day yours will be gone, too.
PANEL:
MARHTA's
left hand is slightly made into a ball, her sleeve rolled up to her
elbow uncomfortably, as it lies dormant on the ground. The diamond
ring is slightly turned to an odd angle on her finger. Specks of
gravel and dirt stick to the back of her hand.
VO
BOX
And
you'll realize then, your Christmases will never feel the same.
PANEL:
The
same shot of MARTHA's arm, this time in a black long-sleeved sweater,
as it hands a carefully-wrapped present off to whoever stands outside
the panel. The red bow is large, almost as large as the present
itself, but the paper is nothing special. The background is the
inside of some room, orange with light. Wherever it is, you get the
sense we've switched from an uncharacteristically cold night in a
Gotham alley, to a warm morning on Christmas Day.
VO
BOX
I
know I was spoiled. I knew that. None of the kids in the Narrows
got what I got. Did I care? Not once. Because I
got
what I
wanted.
Always.
PANEL:
BRUCE
begins tearing into his gift. His face intent with happiness next to
the tree, with many more gifts underneath. His hair is matted from
the long night of waiting for Santa to come. MARTHA sits in an
armchair facing the tree next to BRUCE, but she doesn't pay attention
to him. She looks over to ALFRED without a smile, who's standing
near a window as it snows outside, bringing her the cup of hot
whatever-it-may-be she ordered. Behind the chair, THOMAS stands in
front of the fireplace as it rages, a cup of coffee in hand. BRUCE
is the only one in the room that smiles. If memory serves correct,
snow at a night-like hour is usually a pinkish hue while the sky is
purple.
VO
BOX
We
had the money to make it happen.
PANEL:
BRUCE
unwraps the gift in his lap, a toy gun with an orange tip.
VO
BOX
And
all it takes is one minute. One man.
PANEL:
From
above, we observe THE WAYNES opening the doors of the side entrance
from the theater. Steam comes from a pipe on the side of the
building, rising into nothingness. From around the corner, A MAN who
hides in the shadows of the building next door walks to the spot
where the elder Waynes will die. He holds something under his coat.
VO
BOX
It
was June 26th, much too early for my parents to start buying
presents.
VO
BOX
I
was still reeling from the last one. My parents bought me an action
figure I wanted, but it was the wrong color. I threw a fit. They
didn't care, they could buy me another one. This year the next model
was coming out, and they better get the color right.
PANEL:
BRUCE
is centered, his eyes wide like they were in the first shot. His
parents, whose upper and lower bodies are out of frame, brace
themselves. MARTHA holds her right arm up, elbow tucked, clutching her hand bag to her chest. Her left arm extends as far as it can
behind her, pushing her young son back. THOMAS does much of the
same. Unlike MARTHA's stiff frame, THOMAS hunches a bit, prepared
for anything-- so he thinks-- his right arm pushing BRUCE back with a
bit more force than MARTHA.
VO
BOX
And
then in two short bursts, the sound of a heavy book being dropped on
the floor, these people you used so carelessly are gone.
PANEL:
The
barrel of a gun fires. It's close enough to see the sparks flame out
like a cannon and the smoke swell into the air.
VO
BOX
Bang.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
face is that same stare. Eyes wide, full attention. Multiple pearls
glide out of focus in front of him .
VO
BOX
Bang.
PANEL:
A
hammer comes down on a nail in the wall with a "BANG". The
same elegant type as before accompanies the sound.
PANEL:
BRUCE
sits in the same chair his mother did in the Christmas flashback
panel. Same angle. The room doesn't glow with the lights of the
tree or the heat of a fireplace or the buzz of the lights, though.
Everything is grey from the natural light of the one window. The
fireplace looks cold, the tree hasn't been plugged-in yet, and the
lights are off. Everything outside the window is stark white.
ALFRED hangs a stalking beside two others on the wall in the
background. BRUCE sits normally, with his legs dangling and his arms
propping up his body on the armrests, but he slumps.
VO
BOX
For
six months I did nothing but think about that night. How could you
ask a kid that age to think of anything else?
PANEL:
BRUCE's
eyes look to his left, his eyes a little more open now, but he still
retains the bags under his eyes.
VO
BOX
And
then it clicked-- Why Alfred put a tree in the den, why he hung
stalkings, why he baked cookies the night before... It was
Christmas.
PANEL:
We
lurk over BRUCE's shoulder as he looks at the gifts under the tree.
There are none, only the three or four all sitting next to each other
beside the tree. None are bigger than an average shoe box.
VO
BOX
But
this doesn't look like the Christmas I
knew.
There were barely any presents. I was used to having so many. This
looked like a year I had been bad. Why so few?
PANEL:
ALFRED,
with his right hand, leans over the top of the armchair to hand BRUCE
one of the gifts with his left. A small smile resides on his lips.
BRUCE looks like he's in a curious surprise, but hasn't slept for
quite a long time. He looks down at the gift being placed on his
lap.
VO
BOX
It
was then-- truly then-- I realized what it meant for your parents to
die.
PANEL:
From
BRUCE's perspective, the present sits in his lap, the bow quite
small. BRUCE's arms lie on his sides, like the present is completely
alien to him.
VO
BOX
Alfred
was trying. God bless him, he tried. It was never quite his job to
take care of me. He took care of my parents,
who then would deal with me.
VO
BOX
Of
course he'd take me to school sometimes and make sure I was ready for
bed, and once he helped me with my homework.
PANEL:
BRUCE
looks up from the chair over his left shoulder.
VO
BOX
But
between the two of us, over the years, we'd truly never spoken a word
that meant a thing.
PANEL:
ALFRED
smiles at the reader, his right hand still placed on the back of the
chair.
VO
BOX
And
now he was doing his best, to prove to me he would take care of me.
He would do his best to be a father.
PANEL:
BRUCE
looks back down. ALFRED walks away towards the left of the panel.
VO
BOX
But
me being the age I was, I could only realize how serious my parents'
deaths were.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
hands begin tearing at the wrapping paper surrounding the box.
VO
BOX
I
would never have the amount of presents I did before.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
face begins to curl a small smile.
VO
BOX
I
would have to live like a kid in the Narrows now.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
hands hover over the gift, whatever it may be. The wrapping paper
hides the sides of the present so you can't know what it may reveal.
Behind the chair, ALFRED begins lighting the fireplace.
VO
BOX
I'd
have to settle for... this.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
hands pick up the gift and bring it closer to him. It's some sort of
robot action figure. A blue one.
VO
BOX
It
was the wrong model. This was the one from last year.
PANEL:
BRUCE's
eyes swell with tears. A droplet already rolls off his cheek. But
he smiles. The whole thing is just so ironic.
VO
BOX
But
it was the right color this time.
PANEL:
ALFRED
has come around to the side of the armchair. BRUCE curls his legs up
to his chest and hides his face in his arms. ALFRED lays his right
hand on BRUCE's back for comfort. The toy box sits in between BRUCE
and the armrest, somewhat already forgotten.
VO
BOX
God
bless him for trying.
ALFRED
"Bruce!
Oh... Is everything okay? I--I'm sorry. Is it the right--?"
BRUCE
"Thank
you, Alfred..."
PANEL
From
the overcast sky, we take a final look at Wayne Manor. Its many
rooftops covered in snow, as well as all the property a ten-year-old
could ever inherit. One light shines through a first-floor window.
BRUCE
"I
just miss them so much."
THE
END.
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