The Dark Knight
(Crime Alley, Gotham City)
“It’s okay, Bruce…”
Thomas Wayne raised his right hand trying to reach the face of his son, but it dropped weakly, as the sign of life quickly fading away in his eyes from the blood lost. “Don’t be afraid…”
(The Wayne Manor, after Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne’s funeral)
“It was my fault, Alfred…I made them leave the theatre. If I hadn’t gone scared...”
“No, it was nothing that you did. It was him, and him alone. You understand?”
“I miss them, Alfred, I miss them so much.”
“So do I, Master Bruce…So do I.”
(Underground Parking lot, the spot for mob’s trades)
“What gives you the right? What’s the difference between you and me?” The copycat “Batman” shouted.
“I’m not wearing hockey pads,” answered the
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Master Bruce must have told me a thousand times that I “don’t understand” about his feelings, but once I saw the expression on his young, tear-stained face after the funeral I understood what he was thinking—the expression of guilty from taking himself as the murderer of his loved ones. It’s impossible for anyone to completely escape from that kind of spiritual trauma. That was why I couldn’t blame him for living in anger and self-accusation, for torturing himself with fear and responsibility, and for becoming the guardian of this city—the city his parents had loved so much—by punishing criminals with his own hands. Master Bruce was like his father in some ways: they both hated injustice, and would rather live in a way which might bring them sufferings than break some principles they worship more than anything else.
People in Gotham seem to regard Batman as the symbol of terror or invincibility. That’s because they have never seen him bleed, cry, or even fear. His life could have been in a totally different way: travelling around the world on his yacht, absconding with an entire Russian Ballet, speeding on highways in his Lamborghini—anything, anything but Batman. Every time I think of this I become too sentimental considering my