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Song lyrics by The Who, short story concept from the Darkman comic series. |
"No one knows what it's like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes. No one knows what it's like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies. But my dreams They aren't as empty As my conscious Seems to be. I have hours Only lonely My love is vengeance That's never free." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I can picture him, surveying the damage. "My research..." he mumbles, shuffling through the rubble. Broken glass clatters against his touch, and his bandaged hands soon become smothered in musty soot. His heart lurches as finds what he's looking for: a picture of his beloved. He flings the surrounding debris away, watching the unchanging expression smiling back at him. For a fleeting moment, he smiles back. That's when he notices the blood spot seeping from the corner of the photo. His eyes follow the spot back to its source... his left hand. Curiously, he begins to unveil his hand, so that he may check the wound. He sucks in a quick breath of air. Suddenly, he's ripping the bandages from the other hand. He stares down with his fingers flexed in front of him. The blackened, exposed bones clench themselves tightly. These are his hands now. A wail erupts from within his throat, echoing throughout the ruins of his laboratory. "Oh, god, they took my hands," his rough voice cracks between sobs. "They took my hands." He glances up quickly to meet a pair of familiar eyes, planted in the charred remains of a human face. They stare back at him in horror. They roll around, scanning the face for features he no longer owns. The entire right side of his face is covered in torn sinews and veins, and from the cheeks down, both the skin and muscle have disintegrated. This is his face now. His screams intensify as hot liquid falls freely from his eye sockets, burning fresh trails against the raw tissue. At least he can't feel it. He can't feel anything anymore-- besides intensified emotions. He will never feel again. His cries shrink to pitiful moans, rasping from his damaged vocal chords. This is his life now. |