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#3

"A Heroes Sacrifice"

By Joshua David Krenz

 

A fish, is a fish, is a carp, is aquatic-is a sole, which has no soul, like a shoe. A rose is a rose, is a carnation, is a plant-which grows in the ground, and sometimes has thorns. It is better to buy a new dress than go on vacation.or better to vacation than to buy that new dress. A good meal is hard to finish. Mike "Michael" Murphy had more ideas, theories, hypotheses, rhetorical arguments, philosophies, and anecdotes than a Russian thistle has pointy bits. His absurdity was his personality-the offbeat nature of his life attracted everyone at one point or another.

With a cigarette in his hand he walked his daughter down the street towards the local Laundromat. The eight-year old girl dragged two old, empty army duffels behind her.

"Alright Zigs, here's a thought.every single day, a non-smoker dies. How's that for irony?"

"Dad." the eight-year old girl whined, "you stole that from Bill Hicks."

"What? How? When did you watch that?"

"The other night. We watched it together-don't you remember?"

"Sure I did. Don't tell your mother."

"Dad?"

"Yeah Zigs?"

"Mom says she doesn't like it when you call me 'Zigs'. She says my name is 'Veronica'."

"Funny thing about your mom-she has the spirit of a rhino. Tell her what to do, look right into her eyes and try to stare her down.well she'll just end up charging you. You know what? All rhinos have soft spots, you just have to be willing to feel around a bit-test the rough surface and break through the armor."

The two reached Moira's Laundry, one of the many small laundry shops that exist next to taco stands and comic shops in every major city. On each trip to and from the small rack-a-shack Laundromat Ziggy's mother insisted on counting the articles and making a complete inventory of the load.

"Mom.who wants to steal my Snoopy socks?"

"You never know Veronica. You never know. There are some real sickos in this city."

A special chart was drawn out and photocopied for the tedious process. Once Ziggy's father forgot to note a pair of khakis correctly and the two stopped speaking for three days.

Ziggy never really got the answer about why her mother was so terrified of the Laundromat. Ziggy secretly believed that all laundry-mats were the same, an advanced underground network of small people that smelled of bleach carefully sneaking away coveted socks when no one was looking. Somewhere, deep in the vile belly of each city great Pagan ceremonies were being held in worship of horrid sock abominations. Lots of fire, lots of dancing, celebration, and.well.icky nakedness.

"You know Zigs.your mom, she's a tough woman. There're a lot of things she has to put up with, especially with you and I."

The two had created a masterful workflow. Ziggy's father would pull the load out of the dryer and start pulling it apart and folding it on the table, while Ziggy took inventory and carefully stacked everything inside the old army duffel.

"But your mom, she may seem rough and grouchy, but she has a really great nature. Remember that. You can't escape your nature-your eidos-and your mom has a really pure spirit."

"I know dad."

"A rose, is a rose, is a flower."

The world had changed, and life went on. Somehow no one managed to notice it, but even through all the confusion-all the differences-the truth, the real forms returned from their ebb. Harmony likes to be restored; true nature's can never be escaped.

 

End Chapter One.

Somewhere in Gotham an eleven-year old girl walks alone down a cold street. Everyone knew that Gotham was always cold. The air tasted thick and musty, like an ignored closet; the buildings loomed like dead trees. Worlds ended in less-than-mundane fashion on the asphalt of this city every single day. Gotham was a city that reminded you how boring you really were-that there was nothing unique, special, or creative about you. You were no Wayne . You had no power over this world, just accept your routines and keep your head down.

Somehow, Gotham got a little colder as Ziggy walked past an old abandoned playing card factory. Long ago the world had turned its back on the Monarch Playing Card Company and now it sat like an abused house cat-marred by time, neglect, and anger. Her body was tattered and torn, patches of hair fell off her mangled form like dead flies. From time to time the old calico-now smattered gray-would try to lick the wounds closed, only to have them puss and fester a few hours later. The ribs of the building showed in some places, rusted pieces of iron ripping through the dilapidated concrete walls. Pieces of the roof had caved in after the earthquake making the old building a constant threat. Still, people-like fleas-tried to infest the place. Small nooks in dark corners showed signs of vagrants and transients.

In shock Ziggy continued forward. Over the past few days she had been ignored and patronized to the point of running away. Grant Kennedy was dead, that was the final answer. Still, no one seemed to care-no one seemed outraged by his death. No one even asked about who he was, nor did they care about the sacrifice he had made. To Gotham Grant was simply another newspaper to burn, a snapshot on page D9 of the Gazette, right below the headline "Joker Strikes Again!" The world had already moved on and forgotten Grant Kennedy.

Hatred pumped through Ziggy Murphy like acid cutting through her veins. Her jaw clenched and throbbed, her fingernails dug into the bare flesh of her young tender palms. Even though she had been sleeping in a bed a few days ago her muscles ached from sleeping on the train. Anyone with any history on trains would have told her that this was completely normal. You can sleep in the most convoluted shape, position, and angle in any bed, cot, or campsite and wake up feeling rested and calm. However, fall asleep on a train or a small single-engine airplane and face the consequences the next day. This isn't explainable by science, however it is hardly a debated topic.

Once, in her younger years Ziggy had watched a special with her father on Gotham and the Justice League. A major tragedy had distanced the dark city from the rest of the country, and even though it seemed hopeless major figures around the world tried their hardest to make things right. Pictures of Superman pulling children out of rubble and sneaking crates of food and medicine splashed across the screen. This major event happened in only one city, but it sent shockwaves throughout the world-and the Justice League and all of the world's heroes were there to help. Even the less public figures made some type of appearance on the show.

"Who's that?" Ziggy asked.

"Hmm?" her mother looked up from a set of reports.

"That guy, there."

"Oh, I don't know. Some green guy. Ask your father."

"DAD!" Ziggy hollered into the next room.

"Veronica!" her mother scolded her.

"WHAT?" her father hollered back from the back room.

"WHO'S THE GREEN GUY WITH THE FUNNY CLOTHES?"

Ziggy Murphy's mother threw her reports down into her lap, launched her hands into the air and gave a frustrated sigh.

"WILL EVERYONE PLEASE STOP YELLING!"

Mike Murphy walked into the room scrubbing down a dirty dish.

"Sorry hon."

Mike leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. She smiled and picked up the report.

"It's okay Michael," she said. "I just have to get these filed tonight. Please, inside voices?"

"Who's the green guy, dad?" Ziggy once again inquired.

"Where?" Mike asked sitting next to his daughter on the family's ugly brown, yellow, and orange woven sofa. Mike had gotten the sofa from his ex-roommate and younger brother, however it never left his possession. When Mike and Ziggy's mother got married it stayed with them-like a dreaded memory. Still, Mike refused to get rid of it.

"Too many fond memories." He would say. Ziggy's mother would simply blush and change the subject.

The image on the television changed over once again, showing an old black-and-white photograph of the Justice League.

"There!" Ziggy pointed out.

"Oh, that's the Martian Manhunter."

"Manhunter?!"

"Sounds like he needs a new PR guy," remarked Ziggy's mother. Mike shot her a sly look, but she was already entranced by the paperwork.

"So who is he?" Ziggy said, tilting her head to one side. She had developed this habit as a toddler and never seemed to outgrow it. Mike felt that she had the owl's spirit and that her body reacted to the presence of knowledge, forcing her body into action. Ziggy's mother, on the other hand, felt this was entirely rubbish, and that Ziggy had likely picked it up from a poster of a cute puppy.

"He's a superhero. From Mars."

"What does he do?"

"What do you mean 'What does he do?'! He's a superhero-he.he walks through walls, he stops bad guys, and. and he saves people."

"That's what superheroes do?"

"That's what superheroes do."

"Alright," Ziggy's mother huffed. "Not that this hasn't been educational, but I do have work to attend to. Dollars and Sense says that women in the workplace are expected to have work completed at least 36-hours before deadline in order to stand out. I'm going to finish this off at the office."

She stood up and gathered up her papers. She walked over to her husband and gave him a kiss, then with a mother's grace kissed her daughter on the forehead before Ziggy could playfully pull away.

"Don't stay up too late," she said as she passed through the door. "And stop giving her crazy ideas."

The door closed.

Father and daughter sat in silence watching the program for a few moments, then Ziggy turned to her father.

"Dad? Do you think they would save me?"

"Who?"

"The superheroes."

"Of course they would. It's their nature."

Ziggy thought it over for a few seconds. Heroes saved people because they could, because it was their nature-it was what they did.

Ziggy Murphy nodded to herself and went back to watching the program.

 

End Chapter Two.

Somewhere in this city there was a man who dressed like a bat. Well, he didn't really look like a bat-they're covered in hair and have pig-nostrils. Still, he wore a lot of dark clothes and hung out in uncomfortable places. Plus, real bats had rabies-everyone knew this.

Ziggy had to find this man. They had already met but a mere few hours before on a train. He seemed different and wrong. He wasn't the man from the program. This Batman had no respect for life, let alone those around him. He was a bully-he was cruel. He had to be confronted. Where do you find a man who dresses like a bat?

The train had dropped her off on the northeastern part of Gotham , but she had been walking south for most of the trip. When she left the station a few people offered her rides. Some were probably good people, but none-the-less Ziggy refused. She had a mission. Gotham was an island, and it seemed easiest to pick a direction and walk until you had to find a new direction. Still, city streets have a mind of their own and they ultimately decide where a person will end up. Get on the wrong street and you'll end up fighting the currents to get out. Sure you're a strong swimmer, but that doesn't prevent the seaweed from wrapping around your limbs and the water from stealing your breath. If you didn't know the street it could take you wherever it wanted, and if you were unlucky it would take you exactly where you didn't want to go. Or maybe, if you were extremely unlucky it would lead you right to your destination.

This street lead past an alleyway. To most people this street meant almost nothing at all. It was old, abandoned and was in a desperate need of renovation. Still, it managed to holdfast to its position in the city. Even after years of siege and destruction this alleyway had persevered, like an old knotted tree hanging onto a perilous cliff. This alleyway meant nothing to Ziggy, and it meant nothing to Batman. Still-it meant the entire world to someone, somewhere.

Ziggy decided to go in. Facing the alleyway sat another one of Gotham 's many abandoned but infested buildings. This particular landmark was an old theater. In its heyday it had been a glamorous locale visited by Gotham 's wealthiest and most posh population. Still, hard times spread like cancer, and it didn't take long for this building to get infected. The theater wore its poverty like a patchwork suit, moth-eaten and plagued with lice.

Once again Ziggy felt utter regret for pushing this choice-making this personal quest so important. She stepped into the alleyway, heat emptying her like water through a sieve. An alleyway where something terrible once happened, where the world changed, where someone was born. Still, the show must go on. Ziggy continued down the dead path walking towards its very heart.

There was movement.

Someone else was in the alley. Nestled among the trash a drunk rolled over in his sleep. Others are attracted to this spot as well. Ziggy took in a deep breath, and continued deeper down the alleyway. It was somewhat comforting to slowly intake the air, and more importantly it grounded the eleven-year old Ziggy to the moment.

Above her, leather snapped in the wind.

Ziggy quickly looked up, but the shape was obscured by the darkness of the alley. In front of her sat another fire escape.

"Why do I always end up on top of buildings?" Ziggy thought to herself as she took the first step up the rusted ladder. Bits of metal rubbed off on her hands and clothes as she fought the iron-scent entering her nose. The air tasted acrid and decayed, the cold wet metal only made the situation worse. Still, she moved upward, ignoring the sting of metallic splinters and the discomfort of slimy steps.

"You can't seriously be considering climbing to the top of this.contraption," her mother said inside Ziggy's head. "It's filthy-and there's tar on top of that rooftop."

"Your mother's right," her father joined in, "you could get tetanus. That's how Napoleon and the French managed to conquer the world after all."

"Michael, you're not helping things."

"It's true-they used rapiers with fragile blades. The idea was to break off a piece of metal inside of your target."

"Michael! We're talking about our daughter here! Veronica! Get down immediately and come home!"

Ziggy stopped climbing.

"That way, after a few days, the metal would get infected and start to fester inside the wound."

"Veronica Murphy! Are you listening to me? You're going to get lockjaw from all that rust."

"Tetanus is actually a bacteria that grows on rust. So as the wound festers and becomes infected it allows the bacteria to spread through the blood stream."

"You have your family to think about Veronica Angela Murphy. Come home and get out of that wretched city immediately. "

"It really is amazing. First use of biological warfare if you ask me. This is way before smallpox and blankets."

"I can't believe this Michael, our daughter is off doing-well doing whatever. Do you know what this is doing to her psyche? Studies show.bad things, Michael. Studies show bad things about little girls who run away like this."

"Funny thing about tetanus-when your muscles seize up because of the bacteria infecting your blood stream you usually end up suffocating under the pressure."

"Michael! You're not helping. Veronica! Veronica Angela Murphy come home this minute."

"Yeah Zigs, listen to your mother."

Ziggy Murphy gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and continued upwards.

As she made her way to the rooftop she grumbled out of the side of her mouth.

"My name is Ziggy."

 

End Chapter Three.

The rooftop was empty.

A few pillars, some exhaust pipes, and a ramshackle hut lined the surface, but the source of the leather rustling was nowhere to be seen. The hut was constructed of scavenged materials like old tin and piles of abandoned lumber. Ziggy walked towards the makeshift construction, noting the many safety code violations as she approached. Carefully and slowly she crept towards the pile, tenderly removing splinters of metal from her already bleeding hands.

It wasn't until she was five feet away from the shack that she noticed the body. The legs sprawled out in a prone position facing upwards, but had clearly been hastily deposited within the hut. The body's upper portions were concealed, but it was clearly a teenage male, much like the ruffians that had assaulted her in Metropolis. It didn't take long to recognize the gloomy stillness in the body--he was clearly dead.

Ziggy lowered to all fours and continued to crawl towards the body. It took a second for her eyes to completely adjust to the light, but within a few seconds Ziggy's eyes adjusted, revealing the form before her. A bat-shaped blade protruded from the young boy's forehead. A thin red line severed his throat, blood gurgled freely from the opening. His eyes stared wide open, his mouth agape. This assault had startled him; whatever attacked him had the element of surprise. There had been no struggle, no chance to run. This boy's fate had been decided before he even had a chance of detecting his assailant. Blood dripped freely from the boy's nose and mouth, pooling freshly below his head. His hair was already becoming caked and matted with the blood as it flowed down his forehead and across his scalp. Ziggy leaned her hand against the boy's thigh for support-he was still warm.

"He was sneaking up behind you in the alley," said a cold voice behind Ziggy. "Who knows what he was going to do."

Ziggy didn't turn around. "You.you did this to him?"

"He was a criminal. Scum."

Ziggy felt the pressure of tears form behind her eyes. She fought the throb as the sensation passed through her sinuses causing her to have an involuntary sniffle. Finally she couldn't hold it back, her head dropped and the tears flowed freely down her face. The salty lines created intricate spider-webs as they crossed back and forth across her young skin.

"What are you doing?" the cold voice continued. "This man does not deserve your tears. He doesn't deserve your pity. He's a criminal."

The flap of cloth could be heard as the figure moved away. It was clearly a dramatic noise, as no sound had been heard before. He wanted Ziggy to know that he was leaving. She spun around and followed him across the rooftop.

"You.you did this." she spat through the tears. "You.you did this."

The black caped figure continued across the rooftop, ignoring Ziggy's words.

"You killed that boy.you are the scum.Heroes.heroes are supposed to save people."

The figure pulled a device out from under his cape and directed it towards a building. He prepared to fire of the grappling hook and swing away.

"You.you're no hero. You're.you're lousy.scum.murderer."

The figure stopped. "What did you say?"

Ziggy continued to march forward, wiping the tears away with her blood-encrusted hands. Some of the blood was hers; some of it could have been the boy's. She still had pieces of iron lodged into her palms that continued to dig into her flesh as she wiped the tears away.

"Y-y-y-you heard me, murderer."

The black-clad figure finally turned around. Batman scowled through his mask as he looked down at the eleven-year old girl.

"What do you know about murder?"

Ziggy stopped marching forward and straightened her back. She had stopped crying and shifted to defiant. She lifted her head and stuck her chin out. It wobbled a little bit, but the gesture was universal. Ziggy was standing her ground.

"I know that you're no hero. A hero doesn't do that."

Batman laughed. "You are a child. You owe me your life-twice. Don't think I've forgotten about the train already."

"Don't think that I've forgotten, either."

The two watched each other for a slow minute. Neither moved, neither blinked. Still, it would have been near impossible to pass between them-the energy was too intense.

"You are a murderer. You murdered that boy."

"I saved your life. Twice."

Batman turned away from Ziggy and prepared to leap from the building. Before he could act Ziggy had rushed him, trying to push the massive figure from the roof's edge. It was futile; his mass was too much for the child to move. In one quick motion Batman had wrapped his fingers around the squirming eleven-year old's throat. Calmly he lifted her into the air.

Batman laughed.

"Look at what we've got here."

Ziggy used one arm to fight for support around the massive arm. With the other she flailed, her legs kicking at the massive arm. Still, nothing happened-he was too strong and too well trained. She continued to fight as he simply laughed at the effort.

"You're a murderer. You're a bad guy. You're not Batman!" she screamed at the black-clad figure holding her captive. She continued to slap away, but started to slow down as it became harder and harder to breath. Her limbs felt heavy; her own body weight was killing her. She used her other arm to try and support herself but still struggled for breath.

Batman continued to laugh.

"You.you."

"Murderer? Is that what you wish to call me? Child, let me tell you about murder. My parents.my parents were murdered. Do you understand real loss?"

"Your.parents.. got what they deserved. Just like.you."

Batman stopped laughing. His teeth gripped together and he let loose an angry growl. His grip tightened on Ziggy's throat. The pressure ripped and bruised her muscles completely collapsing her airway. She wheezed and chocked, her body convulsed and tried to cough and vomit to clear the passageway, but she simply could not out-power the hand gripping her throat.

With one last surge of energy she swung her body towards him, kicking both of her legs out and connecting a firm blow across Batman's chin. Instantly blood started to trickle down his mouth. The maneuver was futile, his grip was too strong. He licked up the blood and continued to growl as he increased the pressure. The growl escalated into a loud whine, finally being released as a loud yell.

With a soft pop Ziggy's neck snapped.

Her body went numb and limp in Batman's hands. Her eyes fluttered uncontrollably as her broken body continued to fight for breath.

Batman walked the dead rag-doll body of Ziggy Murphy to the edge of the rooftop, absent-mindedly dropping the body into Crime Alley. With a nauseating crunch the body hit the alleyway below.

 

End Chapter Four.

End A Heroes Sacrifice.

The End.

The world had changed, few had really noticed. Those that did mainly kept it to themselves. Some people remembered the way things were before, but generally dismissed it as a dream-a fantasy that never should have been.

Still, the true nature of the world likes to seep forth. Forgotten heroes will step forward, some unknowingly-others with deliberate and diligent process. You cannot fix the past; the creases can never be removed from the crumpled paper.

Time passes, the Sun continues around the Earth and people move forward. Every event leaves its mark-every person has an impact. Hero, villain, and everyone else-we all change the world around us. A butterfly flaps its wings.a little girl dies.the world changes.

End Epilogue.

Thank you for reading "Ziggy Murphy". I hope you loved the character as much as I did. It was a great world to craft, and I will miss it dearly.

Thanks again,

-Joshua Krenz