Song: Broken Crown

Artist: Mumford & Sons

_________

(LAST CHAPTER)

Recap:

"Getting him out." Wally said and put his hands under my knee and picked me up bridal style.

"No No No." Joker said and held a gun at us, I saw everything slow down as he pulled the trigger, Wally ran as fast as he could.

"MOARTE!" Joker yelled and my vision cut out to black instantly.

MOARTE | Death 

______________________

[Batman]
|Location: Mount Justice Medical Bay|
|Time: 2:13 a.m.|
|February 4th, 2018| 

He's been in a coma since December. 

44 days. 1,056 hours, 63,360 minutes and 3.8020000000 billion seconds since Joker said the one word that made us all fear that he would die. The day where his brothers had to watch over the city for me so I could watch him. The same beeping day in and day out, the same brain activity, dead, the same blood pressure, perfect. 

Nothing changed. The same people visited, the same flowers fulled the table countless times, having to get thrown out due to the wilting death that was in their future. Nothing changes. 

The same routine, check the heart rate, blood pressure, heartbeat, let Martian Manhunter run a brain scan, physical therapy for his motor skills and physical function. 

The same pattern day in and day out. Nothing changes. 

I was relieved from my duty by Canary being too worried about me. I refused at first until she got me in a headlock and formally insisted. 

Alfred finally relaxed knowing that I would finally be getting some rest. 

I passed him on the way to my room as I just let my body hit the mattress and I was out like a light. 

______________________

[Robin]
|Location: Mount Justice Medical Bay|
|Time: 2:30 a.m.|
|February 4th, 2018| 

Cryogenic stasis 
  otherwise known as cryostasis or cryogenic suspension, is a form of sleep that appears very much like death.  

Their face was blurry but bright red hair made me know who they are. I couldn't see those green eyes that I longed to find security in. But just him being there made me feel secure. Like I was safe. 

I would never be safe. I couldn't find security in the broken mess that they called my mind, that void place that made me loathe everything about my existence. I've been trying to remember. Nothing comes to my mind. Ever. 

Prosopagnosia 
An inability to recognize the faces of familiar people, typically as a result of damage to the brain.

I hardly remember who I am. All I see in the mirror is broken blue pools of what seemed to be the reminisce of who I was. Raven black hair and pale skin, much like a shadow. Hardly someone who is actually real. 

I hardly remember who I was. All I remember is a symbol that reminded me a lot of .... I don't remember. A circus group.... I can't remember. 

My lungs burned, it felt as if I was drowning, nothing was making any sense. As if I was being scrambled, jumbled up to the point I couldn't fix myself. No one can. I won't let anyone try to solve my case. 

So this is what insanity feels like, jumbled up, nothing making sense, giving up on the people who think they can help. 

Insanity
The state of being seriously mentally ill; madness.

So, this is what dying feels like? It was calm really, the body shutting down to where you simply feel nothing yet such a profound pain. No one can help you if you're dying like this, through your mind and your body follows. Each individual organ giving up to follow the main source of your being. 

It's incredibly calming yet you feel such unexplained panic as if you're not meant to die. I do. 

Dying is like you're giving vows at your wedding, you feel so nervous but then, everything falls into place. This was my place, I don't deserve what everyone else has the will of doing. I don't have the will to live. 

Ballad
  a poem narrating a story in short stanzas.

My life was cut short, taken from me by a man in purple and green with a massive delusional smile, a weapon is what he made me. More of a weapon than what I was. I wore a crest on my chest to show how I supported the city. No one seemed to understand what I child could do. I showed them. 

Someone was narrating my life. Two people who I called my parents, a man who killed them, the man who adopted me into his family of 9, the people who I called brother and sister, the man who was like a grandfather to me, the man with an S on his chest with his teammates who I considered my family, a man with oily green hair who had no jurisdiction on how to treat people.  

This is my ballad. My short story. I would die, but I would never be gone. I was never free, it was like chains held me back, tainting the child like innocence that never seemed to disappear, but it did now. 

Goner
a person or thing that is doomed or cannot be saved.  

I'm a person who wasn't meant to be saved. They wasted their energy saving someone who wouldn't even make it past the age of 16. They wasted their efforts on a person whose built on self loathing, on a person who can't even bother to save themselves. I may have fought back in the beginning, but at what cost. It wouldn't have stopped anything, everything remained the same except my own sanity and skin. Bruises and scars littered the canvas of my body,

I've never tasted the cruel bits of freedom that everyone else has. I wonder what it's like, to be free. To have an opinion. To have something that's actually yours. One can only dream. 

Crimson
 of a rich deep red color inclining to purple.  

The color of blood really, the thing that runs through your veins and keeps you alive. Everyone has it, but everyone can also lose it. It runs through your mind after you've split it, crimson nightmares. No one can forget them, they stay there until you just can't handle it anyone, you lose your sanity or you kill yourself. No one can manage to keep themselves sane after an occasion like this. 

You're like a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off, but you're also just a flood. Rushing until your dam bursts and everything floods out. A loose end that no one took account for, the one thing that no one wants, a loose string that will leave everyone regretting they didn't off your. Then crimson floods because you can't handle it. 

Crimson also holds you back, keeps you from talking. Taking a human or animal life takes a lot from a person, including their ability to every thing logically again. They hold you back, make it to where you can barely move, barely speak, barely function like a person again. 

Your body takes the adrenaline and your body starts to come down from a high. At that point, you're sobbing hysterically or laughing because you don't know who you are anymore. 

I know the feeling, My body was weak as I just looked at my hands, covered in warmth from a different person as I covered my face and just, sobbed. I didn't want to become this machine, no one would understand how I felt. Chains were holding me back from death, insanity, losing myself. My very own crimson chains saved me from my self and death. 

Not so much now. 

Where were my crimson chains now? Where were they to save my shutting down organs, my lungs burned from no oxygen, to save me from my body slowly getting lighter and lighter, a numbing sensation. 

Where were my crimson chains to save me from my own death?

Where are they now?