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#2

Ziggy Murphy: The Trials of a Hero

By Joshua David Krenz

 

Sometimes people refuse to see what is in front of them. The frog-pot experiment involves boiling an amphibian alive in a simple stockpot. Simply placing the frog inside the vessel of boiling water will result in the animal launching itself from the imminent death. However, placing a frog inside cold water and gradually increasing the temperature until it hits roughly boiling temperatures will result in a small meal for those of exotic tastes.

The point, of course, is that a frog is capable of noticing drastic changes in the environment, but not gradual changes over time. Humans, however, are too intelligent to notice drastic or gradual changes. The inner complexities of the human mind allow for a complete evasion of reality. Take, for example, a cosmic and chrono-pandemic event that completely realigns past, present, and future. Whereas amphibious minds are boggled and awe-struck by the drastic changes, human minds simply work to avoid uncomfortable and confusing situations. Plus, nothing gets done if you spend your time working through the malarkey.

So as it stands the world seems to function solely on the fact that the dominant species is intelligent enough to be ignorant about mass influencing events. Plus, it helps commerce.

Ziggy's mother always warned her not to clean her ears too frequently.

"You'll damage your eardrums!" she used to scream.

Still, it never stopped the young Ziggy Murphy from jamming the cotton swabs deep into her inner canals. It felt so good to hit the right spot, and it was such a relief when it was done. The sensation paralleled a dog's addiction to back scratches-another concept generally distant to humans. There was something ridiculously appealing and satisfying to scratching away at a hard to reach place.

"One day, when you're deaf, you'll regret not listening to me!"

It seemed that no matter what Ziggy did, her mother always had a reason for her not to do it. Generally, it seemed better to ignore her mother's wishes. After all, her mother rarely had Ziggy's best intentions in mind when she made these demands. Most of the time Ziggy's mother was more interested in her own neck, and the eleven-year old Ziggy knew this better than most. Ziggy's mother once fired a man she secretly suspected of being an illegal Irish immigrant. When the man returned with papers she confiscated them from the poor gardener and had him arrested for trespassing. Later it was revealed that the man, whose American parents had sent him to Ireland for a "higher education", was pressing charges for unlawful termination, discrimination, and a handful of infringements relating to employee rights. Ziggy's mother had successfully defended herself using a series of cases relating to defending private property from an outside state and/or government.

In the end it was more satisfying to dig that cotton-tipped stick into the darkest parts of her ear than it was to listen to her mother, which is partially why Ziggy found herself on a thirty-five hour train trip to Gotham City. Arguably Ziggy had made better choices in her life than to travel alone to the most crime ridden and filth-drenched piece of area in the world. Still, her father had financed the trip-which almost gave it some amount of legitimacy.

End Chapter One

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The steady back and forth rhythm of the shifting train made it easy for Ziggy to fall into an absent zone. The countryside rushed past like a fleeting dream. One minute the train window was filled with a forest landscape, the next it had been replaced by open fields of sweeping grass. It was a never-ending display of landscape, and it was the most boring thing Ziggy had ever seen.

Ziggy had always been a child of the city, and was genetically predisposed to live in a concrete world. Even though she had been generally sheltered from real suffering and poverty Ziggy felt more alive surrounded by brickwork and trash than the natural world. Man had managed to create a rusty machine, but at least that machine would function from time to time. Plus, nature had icky things in it-like bugs and snakes. Fortunately for Ziggy there was something more interesting inside the train with her.

The man sitting in Ziggy's booth was gentle and bearded. The expression on his face was always easy to read due to his enormous cheekbones, which peeked above his graying beard like a semaphore. His mouth was completely covered by the facial hair-however Ziggy quickly learned that if the man's cheekbones and bushy-eyebrows were raised he was smiling. The rest of the time she simply had to rely on inflections in the man's voice.

"Once," the man started, "I watched a boy drink a fishbowl. He gulped the entire thing down-water, fish, pebbles, and even a little castle. However, he started chocking."

"How come?"

"A piece of fish food-those small multicolored flakes-had lodged itself in his throat. I imagine the piece sat right between where your sinuses meet your tonsils. You could see by the poor kids struggling and shaking that the small piece of flake had sent a chain-reaction down his esophagus-"

"Esophagus?"

"The tube that runs down your neck to your stomach. Don't interrupt, it's rude. Anyway-where was I?"

"Esophagus."

"Right, esophagus. The piece of fish food had irritated something in his stomach, which managed to obstruct his passageways-on the way back up, if you know what I mean. The poor boy started turning a strange shade of purple-green. A really off color, if you ask me. So what'd I do?"

"What'd you do?"

"What'd I do? I'll tell you. I punched him."

Ziggy gave the man a perplexed look. "You punched him?"

"Well what else could I do? I'm not medically trained. The first blow landed right in his gut-the soft spot where a man really knows he's been hit. It caught the boy off guard. At first he just looked at me. He didn't have enough oxygen to actually speak, but he mouthed something-so I hit him again."

The old man punched the air, his cheekbones bounced jovially.

"Heh heh heh. That poor boy-couldn't be more than nineteen-spilled on to the floor after that hit. Honestly-who wouldn't? He started to cough, an excellent sign in my opinion, and water started to splash against the ground as he retched in place."

"That's it?"

"What?" the man's beard looked frustrated, "of course that's not it. No, I pushed the fishbowl under the puking boy-as not to mess up the carpet-and the contents of the tank started pouring back into place. Pebbles, water, castle and all. To my surprise the fish even made it out, and started swimming around with a new found respect for life."

"Why would someone want to drink a fishbowl?"

"How would I know? You're the kid, why would you want to drink a fishbowl?"

"I wouldn't. Fish make mess in their own water."

The old man thought it over for a second. "Yes," he finally decided, "yes I suppose they do."

The man wore older clothes that had been sitting in a closet for some time. Ziggy could tell by scent alone, but the presence of dust and mothball residue helped secure that fact. His body was largely wrapped by a gray jacket, a design that Ziggy's mother would have loathed, but her father would have loved.

"It's a jacket that tells a story," Mike Murphy would have said. "You can't simply buy a jacket like that-it needs to live, like a human. Eventually it has seen enough things, experienced enough, that it too has life and meaning of its own. It's what makes the world spectacular Zigs."

End Chapter Two.

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The train had left the countryside and re-entered the familiar cityscape that Ziggy was familiar with. Still, she had never really been to Gotham. Ziggy had slept off and on for most of the trip, and now that she was in the presence of the different city, she realized that she had entered a completely different world. In the distance she could see the drastic change in environment. The skyline was dark and morbid, buildings cut into the clouds like spines through flesh. Even on the outskirts of the foul city Gotham's taint could be felt. Brickwork seemed to be sprayed with ichor and pollution, people carried themselves with a different weight-as though looking up would draw unwanted and unwarranted attention.

Even Ziggy's sole traveling partner seemed to change with the atmosphere. In thirty-three hours he had been nothing but jolly-or asleep-but now his demeanor had shifted into a serious, morose fashion. The old giggly man who had blurted out little nothings now fell silent, as though the city had swept his voice away.

"Remember Veronica , it isn't proper to speak with strangers. Sometimes they are crazy people, especially the homeless-who are likely to be on drugs or recently released from prison."

It seemed that Ziggy's mother was always looking for ways to distance herself from everyone else in the world. Eventually, Ziggy rationalized, her mother would find a way to completely isolate herself from even her closest family. Some day Ziggy would be sacrificed to her mother's self-importance.

"My name is Ziggy, mom."

"No it's not Veronica , don't be foolish. And refer to me as 'mother'. Also, it is important to smile in front of strangers. A good smile will make the best impression, and first impressions make lasting impressions. Remember, Veronica -you can never take back what someone thinks of you."

Soon the train made its way over Blackgate Isle and down the final stretch towards Gotham. The water below was dark and cold, the nighttime light seemed to be drawn away by the sheer chill of Blackgate.

"Why are you so quiet?" Ziggy asked the old man in her booth.

It took a second for the man to respond. At first his eyes had been clouded by distant thought and an uncertain emptiness, but upon hearing the eleven-year old's voice the man slowly lifted from his miasma. Soon the façade of his normal self appeared, and he responded to the young girl sitting across from him.

"Oh, I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

Another second passes, and finally the old man answers.

"Lots of bad things have happened over these waters. Even worse things have happened in them."

"Like what?"

The man looked into the little girls eyes, communicating more with one glance than any adult ever had before. The message was clear-lives had come to an end in those waters, some had ceased to exist. It is hard to erase a memory--it haunts an area. Even if everyone forgets the person, the feeling remains.

Ziggy coldly nodded her response. No one had ever treated her with such seriousness before. There was a new-formed code of respect between her and that old man. She would not press the questions any further, because he had given her the answer without trying to shelter her from the truth.

Their moment of understanding was cut short by the train pulling to a stop.

Ziggy looked out the window expecting to see the station, but was greeted instead by the blackness of the empty water.

"Why did we stop here?" she asked her traveling partner.

"I haven't the slightest."

The conductors voice cut in through the overhead speakers. "We seem to be having an.an unscheduled.delay. Please, please, please remain seated. We will be moving along shortly."

The timid voice was quickly yanked away from the speakers and replaced by a sadistically gleeful laugh. A new voice echoed through the train.

"Of course we will, kiddies. Now remember, your old pal Joker doesn't want any funny business-so just make with the wallets and we'll be on our merry little way. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

End Chapter Three.

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Three oversized men dressed in clown suits patrolled the walkways with Tommy guns as a man in a purple suit with an oversized red bag in one hand and a cane in the other laughed and danced as he collected his prizes.

"Now remember-it's always better to take your watches off before I have to peel them off of your severed hands. Less blood, you see. HAHAHAHAHA!"

The laugh had its own personality. The Joker seemed to have an innate ability to switch between gleeful, cackling, and maniacal at will. Sometimes the laugh seemed to be cutting in and out, only to erupt like a symphony of euphoria. The jokes never seemed to amuse anyone but the psycho with the large red bag, but with each watch, wallet, or necklace the volume and quality of his laughter changed.

"Boys-did I ever tell you about the time Bat-brains and I had a late night waltz-or was it a tango-on top of the mayor's yacht while .hehe.while the mayor.THE MAYOR.HAHAHA..was tied up.with his family.his little daughter crying 'Oh please Mr. Clown man'.hehe..hehe.Mr. Clown Man.haHAhaHAHAAAaaaaAA. Let me tell you.it was a riot!"

They were getting closer; soon the madman would be at their booth.

"What do we do?" Ziggy whispered to the old man.

"We give him what he wants, and he leaves us alone."

"But I don't have anything to give. I spent all my money on the tickets."

The old man thought for a second, reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Here," he said, handing her the cash from inside the bi-fold. "I want you to take this."

Ziggy looked down at the money being handed to her and instantly realized what it meant. In a daze, she held the money in her hand not knowing what to do with it.

"But what will you give him?" she asked.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh kidddddieeeeesssss---what's all this whispering?"

The door flung open and the Joker leaned in through the open door.

"Oh lookey-" the Joker grabbed the money from Ziggy's hand, "cash! My favorite. HeHe. You know-it's so hard to find good, hard cash these days. You know what everyone is carrying around instead?"

He looked down into Ziggy's eyes, but all she saw was madness. His bloodshot eyes were barely human, let alone alive. A long time ago any remnants of humanity had been ripped away, all that was left was the tattered fragments of insanity. As the two gazed into each other's eyes, the Joker's countenance shifted from glee to disgust.

"Credit cards," he spat. "Plastic."

The Joker's body shifted, now filled with disdain he no longer carried himself in a light and happy manner. He glared at the old man sitting across from Ziggy.

"Well?" he yelled at the old man, "what do you have to offer."

The old man patted down his body looking for some donation to sate the madman, but ultimately came up short.

"I am sorry, sir-I seem to have left my wallet at home. All I have are these clothes, my luggage, and a stub from a one-way ticket to Gotham City."

The Clown Prince of Crime frowned. "Boys."

Two of the three oversized-clowns rushed forward and grabbed the old man. Ziggy tried to stand up in his defense, but was knocked over in the commotion.

"It looks like we've got ourselves.and example.heHe."

The old man was dragged into the walkway and thrown on the floor. The two clowns pulled the man to his knees and held him in place as the Joker walked back and forth in front of him.

"You know, boys-it's been a long time since I've had a chance to practice my swing."

The Joker stood in front of the old man and assumed a golfing position, his cane as a club. He pulled back and let the cane fly forward cracking into the old man's skull.

The man moaned.

"Op-topped it," the Joker laughed.

"Stop it!" Ziggy screamed from inside her booth.

"Marcel-" Joker motioned over his shoulder, the third clown picked up Ziggy in one fell swoop and covered her mouth with his massive hand.

"You know." laughed the Joker, "I've always wondered about my stance-what do you think?"

Again, he swung the cane into the old man, who started coughing blood as the Joker pranced in front of him.

"They say I need to focus on keeping my back straight and my legs shoulder length apart-"

The cane cracked into the old man's arm, bones shattered upon the impact.

"Whoops.heHehe..arm broke on that one. Gotta keep it straight, right Tiger?"

Suddenly, the lights within the cabin went dark, silence falling upon the train.

"Hmmm...looks like someone wants a night game."

End Chapter Four.

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There was a large crash and bang. Ziggy found herself free from the large man's clutches. A moment later the lights returned to the cabin.

Somehow, during the brief blackout someone had managed to knock out all three of the oversized clowns. One of the clowns was bleeding profusely from his nose; another clenched his wrist and rolled on the ground. The third clown, Marcel, had been crammed inside the overhead storage. The old man was still curled up on the floor, bleeding from his nose and mouth, whimpering softly to himself.

Inside the walkway a large man in black held the Joker against the ceiling with both hands. Once again Ziggy was locked in a trance of fear and confusion. Her traveling partner continued to die on the ground below her, but everything was happening so quickly that her options had seemingly vanished.

"Tell me," said the man in black, "why I shouldn't simply end you here?"

"HeHeHe.come now Batso.that's not your deal.right?"

"You tell me."

Batman took away one of his hands from around the Joker's neck and reached down to his utility belt. Carefully he removed a sharp-pointed blade in the shape of a batwing. Slowly and methodically he raised it to the Joker's throat.

"Stop!" came a scream from the other end of the walkway.

A new person, a woman in a black suit and fishnets ran into the foray.

"Batman-" pleaded Black Canary, "remember-we don't do things this way."

"You don't" snapped the Dark Knight.

Black Canary pressed her hand against Batman's shoulder. After another moment he lowered the Joker, who chocked and spat after being released.

"You did the right thing, toots," Canary said compassionately.

The Joker quickly looked up, shock crossing his face.

"You.heHehe.now that.that's comedy.hahahaHAHAHAHAAAAAAahAHA!"

The laugh was guttural, and full-as though the Joker really got this joke.

"haHaHAHAHAAAAa.you know Batsy-I knew a girl like her once as well.don't trust 'em, women just get in the way."

In one quick motion with lightning speed Batman knocked Canary aside and picked up the laughing lunatic--rushing him through Ziggy's booth, knocking her aside in the process. Using the Joker as a shield Batman smashed through the train's window; fragments of glass ripped into the Joker's smiling face. He continued to laugh in glee as the Dark Knight dangled the Clown Prince over the cold dark water.

"Come on Bats.we haven't even gotten to really play.something's different, and I want a ride on this new revised rodent..hehe.."

Ziggy snapped out of her stupor.

"Stop it!" yelled the young Veronica Murray, "what are you doing?"

"Oh, now this is a real treat! Come on Bat----MANNNNN, tell her! The little pip-squeak wants to know why you're dangling poor old me out a window-GURGK!"

Batman increased the pressure on the Joker's throat, cutting off the air going to his lungs.

"What are you doing?" Ziggy pleaded, "You're Batman.you're not supposed to do this."

Batman looked over his shoulder at the eleven-year old girl standing in the booth with him. Behind her the Black Canary was regaining her posture and pulling herself up. As she witnessed the scene before her she let out a little gasp.

"This isn't who you are," Ziggy continued.

Batman continued to give her a cold stare.

"What do you know?" he scowled. With that he released his grip, letting the Joker fall from his grip.

"No!" Black Canary yelled as she rushed forward. Tears had already started to run from underneath her mask as she pushed Batman out of the way to get to the window.

"Oh.God." she cried as she watched out the window.

Somewhere, in the distance a blue streak flew by holding a man in a purple suit.

Somewhere, in the distance a mixture of coughing and cackling could be heard.

End Chapter Five.

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The heroes left the train.

Most of the train's passengers huddled together in their own booths, gazing at Ziggy and the old man in the walkway. Some bolder members went for help.

Ziggy once again sat with her traveling partner as his body continued to lose warmth. He shivered and chocked as the life ran out of him. Ziggy could do nothing but stroke his hair and cry.

"Thank you," she whispered over and over as she tried to comfort the old man in his final moments. He swayed in and out of consciousness.

"Tell me your name?" she begged through the tears.

With one final act of clarity the old man looked up through dying eyes and shared a moment with Ziggy.

"My name...is Grant.Grant Kennedy."

She nodded.

"My name," Ziggy cried, "is Ziggy Murphy. I'm glad to have met you."

End Chapter Six.

End The Trials of a Hero.

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Next Issue: The story of Ziggy continues..