"The path to paradise begins in hell."
–Dante Alighieri

A BITTER BREEZE SENT  violent shivers down my spine as I took an impossibly deep drag off of my cigarette.

The minty flavor of the menthol cigarette generated an extreme warmth throughout my limbs, easing the anxious shakes as I stood several yards outside of the Emergency Room doors.

It was a dreadfully chilly night in Metropolis. During the day it had been extremely overcast, the usually clear sky was riddled with thick, fluffy clouds that resembled miscellaneous shapes. Usually, Metropolis was a bright and cheery city.

Today, however, was different.

The weather seemed to coincide with the abundance of negative events that happened to occur in my life. When my cat Snowball died six years ago, it rained for three days straight prior.

A burgundy, oblong shaped pebble sat wedged beneath the sole of my sneaker. With raised brows, I discarded my finished cigarette into a nearby bush before toying with the vibrant pebble.

It rotated beneath the toe of my shoe, scraping against the discolored concrete as the sliding doors to the hospital slid rapidly open.

I craned my neck in the direction of the sudden noise, eyes contorting into slits at the sight of a presumably newlywed couple exiting the building, hand-in-hand as the man attempted to calm his hysterical wife down. A bright yellow cast hugged her left arm, thick tracks of mascara staining her cheeks as she sobbed pitifully over her broken arm.

At least your mother isn't fucking dying.

With an elated sigh, I twisted on my heel, reentering the brisk waiting room once more. The harsh lighting nearly blinded me, my vision slightly blurred as I took a seat on a dreadfully uncomfortable azure tinted plastic chair.

My frigid digits sat stuffed in the overly large pocket of my worn grey sweatshirt, the uneven strings dangling against my arms as several petite nurses paced the tile floor, clipboards in their clutch.

A particular nurse, nearly five feet in height with a blonde curly bob glanced several times in my direction, her teal hued scrubs bunched at the ankles. Her tiny pink tongue darted outward, caressing her bottom lip as I struggled to divert my gaze. I couldn't deny it — The woman was effortlessly gorgeous, but I was only sixteen, and she had to be in her mid-twenties, at least.

A dismissive grin tugged at my thin, chapping lips, fingers twiddling inside the secure pocket of my sweatshirt as I eventually diverted my gaze. I could still feel her piercing glare on me, but I chose to blatantly ignore it.

An exasperated sigh tumbled from my lips, chest heaving as a faint twinge spread throughout my chest. Whether it be the result of my excessive smoking or the stress of my mother possibly dying tonight, I wasn't quite sure.

About an hour and a half earlier, I found my mother unconcious on the bathroom floor. She's been snorting cocaine quite heavily for as long as I can remember, but this time, she must've took it a bit too far.

We aren't close anyways. She's been emotionally absent nearly my entire adolescence, and a part of me truly hated her for it. Because of her, I didn't have the best upbringing.

My gaze flickered in the direction of the oval desk once more, stare locking with blonde curly bob girl as she collected a jet black clipboard in her frail arms. I watched intently as she took an impossibly deep inhale before trudging in my direction.

Every limb immediately locked in place at her sudden movement, a growing sense of discomfort settling in my bones as she quickly approached my rigid self.

"Uh, Christopher Horton?" The woman squeaked as she wet her lips once more. She paused abruptly in front of me, shuffling the clipboard around in her grasp as I stood to my feet.

The metal leg of the chair caught on my sneaker, scratching obnoxiously against the tile floor as I winced.

"Y-Yeah?" I breathlessly stammered.

"I regret to inform you that we were unable to revive your mother Eloise. Her time of death was exactly at four AM. I'm so sorry, sir." The woman apologetically spoke, her voice wavering as my jaw went slack.

"Four on the dot?" I gawked, left arm darting upward to claim my chin. I claimed my bottom lip between my calloused thumb and index finger, tugging aimlessly at the skin as I avoided the womans glare.

"Yes, sir. Again, my deepest condolences." She stammered before twisting on her heel and abandoning my frozen frame.

My mother is dead.

My mother is dead.

I nodded curtly to myself, a dissatisfied grunt escaping my lips as I strut from the hospital.

The brisk Metropolis air slapped me in the face the moment I exited the premises, my breaths emerging in short pants as I defeatedly fell to my knees against the freezing sidewalk.

My hands grew numb upon impact as they collided with the frozen surface, strangled tears escaping my eyes as I let out an involuntary cry.

Here I was, an orphan at sixteen years of age. My mother was dead, courtesy of her selfish cocaine addiction. My father — well — That was an interesting story, really. Simply put, my mother slept around quite a bit nearly seventeen years ago. I typically was not one to slut shame, but I always found myself a bit salty in reference to the fact that I didn't have a fucking clue who my father was. Not even my mother knew. When I asked her for the first time two years ago, she gave me a list of six names, six men who could've possibly been my father.

My chest heavily ached as I slumped into a sitting position, surrendering myself to my overwhelming emotion as realisation truly set in: I was completely and utterly alone.

A/N: A slightly short introduction chapter, but I promise they'll get longer! No Joker obviously, just a little insight to the night/morning Horton's mother died. I'm sorry if it was a bit boring.

I'm so, so excited about this book! Like I stated earlier, I'm not used to writing first person, so I apologize if this wasn't up-to-par.

until next time...

Xo. Allie