This prompt was about writing a piece of fan fiction, which I haven’t written since I was about 15. Personally, I’m not a fan (no pun intended) of most fan fiction, and can’t be bothered to wade through the mud to find the few stories that really stand out. Writing fan fiction again didn’t sound very appealing.
However, I did want to follow through with the prompt…it’s a writing challenge, after all. So I wrote a small piece set in a favorite fictional place.
The city was bleeding.
Another murder put the tally at five in two weeks. No connection between the victims. No similarities in age, race or social status. Gender didn’t make a difference. No similar features, distinguishing marks or matching birthdays. There was no pattern at all.
Commissioner James Gordon preferred the ones that had patterns. A grinning corpse, a riddle, or some sort of deadly plant life. It let him know who he was dealing with and exactly how they ought to be dealt with. The ones without patterns were the real danger. Too unpredictable.
Gordon climbed up the stairwell to the rooftop of GCPD Headquarters and looked out at the city that stood before him while lighting a cigarette. It put on a shiny facade of steel and glass, but was rotting on the inside. He comforted himself with the notion that it was a serial killer this time, and not some megalomaniac bent on subjugating the city. In a city teeming with madness, comfort was a very relative term.
Blowing a final wisp of smoke into the chilly air, he stubbed out his cigarette and pulled down on the lever of the huge beacon beside him. The gloomy night sky was flooded with light, shining a familiar symbol over the city. All Gordon could do now was wait. And hope that Gotham’s grim guardian would do what he did best.