Graduation

[SilverKnight]

--Now, this story was sort of derived from my horror story of the Senior Awards I went through. However, the actual events, such as the talking, scowling, and such, never happened. And before anyone says anything, I’m not knocking anyone who’s blind, or anything like that. Okay? Cool. Oh, and I just wrote this today, so I just felt like sharing what I have with my dear friends. :D Well, mock at your leisure.--

>>Graduation<<

I straighten my tie in the mirror for the tenth time, eyeing myself critically. I sigh. I know I’m an old man, but why do I feel like it right now? I shake my head at the futility of the question, instead checking my watch. I have a little less than fifteen minutes to make to the school before they lock the doors. Can you believe that? They actually *lock* the doors to the students’ graduation.

Probably so people won’t leave screaming.

Ace simply stares at me with those big brown eyes of his. I hate it when he does that. I motion to Ace to come with me. He ***** his head to the side. “Yes, you can come along, Ace,” I reply. He whines, standing apprehensively. “Yes I’m sure they’ll let you in.” His ears droop for a moment. I didn’t want to resort to this, but… “I’ll act blind if necessary.” He growls impatiently. I’m tempted to do so too. “Look, do you want to go or not?” He harrumphs, trotting in front of me.

What I do for that mutt.

---

I give my make-up a once over, checking my dress at the same time. The flower print is a bit faded on the somewhat shiny material. I run my hands down the knee length satin dress, trying to press out any wrinkles I haven’t already noticed. I sigh wearily. I feel so…*old* right now. True, I’m only in my thirties, but still…

My son’s graduating.

I mean, I’m happy, of course. My son’s *graduating*. And I honestly don’t know how. Terry’s very bright, but his grades somehow never proved it. I walk out of my room, clicking off the light. I hear Matt rustling around in his cramped room, and I stroll over, looking at my watch. “Matt!” I call. “Get ready, we have to go!”

“Aw, *mom*—“

“*Now*, Matt!” I’m in no mood to hear him whining about how he doesn’t want to go. He appears out of his room, turning the light off quickly. I can’t help but smile at the scowl he’s giving me. He’s so cute. “Come on, Matty, it won’t be *that* bad.”

He trudges past me. “Can’t I at least bring my pocket ga—“

“No,” I command, as I lock the front door. We both travel down the small hall, entering the elevator. “No pocket games, no little toys. You’re going to sit there and pay attention like an adult would, got it?” He sighs, leaning against the pale wall of the elevator. Rolling my eyes, I hand him a pen.

He looks at it in front of his face, and his eyes travel up to mine, bemused. “What’s this for?”

“Take it,” I say. He does so without hesitation. “If you get bored, you can write who gets what, okay?”

He smiles slightly, and nods. I silently swear to myself for not bringing a second pen. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to pay attention now.

---

I grab the pen from Mom’s hand, putting it in my breast pocket. I hate these stupid suits—I feel all hot and stuffy in them. Stupid Terry, has to graduate when the schwayest cartoon on earth—Martian Manhunter—is running an all day marathon. But do *I* get to see it? *NOO*. I have to watch “Terry the Twip” instead. I sigh.

Life is *so* unfair.

---

I’m graduating.

I’m *graduating*.

How? I’ll never know, but I’m *so* graduating tonight. This is *unbearably* cool. I look at myself in Max’s floor length mirror, adjusting the cap slightly. The tassels fall in my face, and I quickly swat them away with my right hand. I smooth down the midnight black robe—fitting huh?—as Max walks out of the bathroom in her robe. See, the robes are according to school colors—black and blue. Can you believe it? Black and blue. And they picked it *voluntarily*. Well anyway, the guys wear black and the girls wear the blue. All in all, it suits her. I can’t really say the blue goes with her flaming pink hair, but it *does* accent her ebony eyes and dark features.

As I said, it suits her.

Dana steps into the room too, playfully nudging me over to see herself in her robe. The azure robe suits *her* too, the material showing off her slender, sloping shoulders and her long, swan-like neck. She grins at me, and I notice something.

None of us are talking. I open my mouth in attempt to say that she looks beautiful in her “smurf robe” as she calls it—I dunno, don’t ask me. She told me it was based off of some *really* horrible show way back in the day. Dana simply, though, puts her finger to my lips, quieting me. The feel of her soft skin on my face sends a chill down my spine. I merely smile back at her.

I guess nothing needs to be said.

We all file out of Max’s cramped room, Dana going in Max’s car, and I—ever the rebel, huh dad?—going in my motorcycle. Which—as I get on it—I realize isn’t the smartest of ideas. But, Dana and Max are already gone, so I have no choice.

So, I peel the light robe off of me, being careful to fold it so not to leave any noticeable creases or the like. That would be so unschway. I take the cap off too, putting them both in the small compartment meant for the suit. Once it’s snugly inside, I close it, putting my helmet on. Okay, so driving in a dress suit isn’t the best of ideas, either, but hey, who cares? I’ll be wearing that robe overtop of it *anyway* when I walk across the stage. I can’t fight the mile-wide grin that crosses my face as I head toward Hamilton Hill High School.

I’m graduating.

How the hell did I ever manage *that*?

---

I head towards the door, Ace apprehensive beside me. “Calm down, Ace,” I mutter to him, my face still forward. “If this is going to work, you have to act like you do this all the time.” He whimpers slightly. I pat him on the head, scratching softly behind his ear. “Don’t worry, boy. I know what I’m doing.” Don’t look at me like that, I *do* know what I’m doing. Really.

Well, sort of.

I’ve been blind before—albeit for a few days—and I know what seeing-eye dogs do. Before I glaze my eyes over and dilate my pupils, I take one last look at the place. My God, the lines are already seemingly down the block. Yes, there are actually *lines* for a graduation. Although I can hardly see why; it’s like volunteering for the execution line. ‘Sure, kill me first. I don’t mind, really.’ Then again, *I’m* here, so I guess I can’t talk.

“May I help you, sir?”

I immediately put up the ruse, my eyes darting around. “Actually, yes,” I say, holding my arm out slightly. Dilating your pupils makes everything extremely bright and blurry, so actually, I *do* need his help. “This is Hamilton Hill High School, correct?”

“Yes, yes sir it is. Here for your grandson?” He asks; I can hear the smile in his voice, whoever he is.

I smirk. “Something like that,” I reply. “My seeing eye dog seems to be a little overwhelmed by the commotion,” I lie. I hope you heard that, Ace. You *owe* me for this. “Would you be so kind as to guide us towards the front door?”

“Oh, by all means.” He takes my arm gently, walking me forward.

“Are you one of the teachers?” I inquire, trying to make conversation.

I hear him chuckle. “No, no. You see I’m here for my son’s graduation,” the man next to me explains. I don’t hazard a look at him—too stupid of a mistake. “And you seemed to be a bit lost, I was wondering if you needed any help, sir.”

And who says chivalry is dead?

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Mr. …ah…”

“Annetta. John Annetta,” he shakes my hand. Healthy handshake, not bad. “May I ask your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘sir’, can I?”

“No, go ahead. I don’t mind,” I jibe, returning the handshake.

“You seem…familiar. Are you on TV or something?” He questions, guiding me toward the front door I vaguely see. You hear that, Ace? He recognizes me. You owe me *big* for this.

“Uhm, no, I don’t believe so, Mr. Annetta—“

“Please, call me John.”

Informality. Great. I nod curtly. “Alright, John.”

The wafting sounds of voice become louder, so I’m assuming I’m near the door. I hear several abject comments about me butting in line and such, but I ignore them. They can wait. They’re not missing much. Plus, can’t they see I’m blind?

Heh, talk about your ironic statement.

“Do you have tickets, sir?” A woman—presumably sitting at a desk, judging by the sound—asks John and I.

I fish the ticket out of my breast pocket, and give it to her. I hear a rustling of paper to my right as he grabs the ticket out of another paper. “Oh,” John mutters, shoving something into my hand. The program, most likely. I shift to let Ace in front of me, and the man guides me inside. Once in the large reverberating room, he stands in front of me. “So, are you going to tell me your name?”

I clench my jaw. Well, it’s not like I can give him my *real* name. I blurt out the first name that comes to mind. “Tim Grayson.”

“Really? Well, nice to meet you, Tim,” he exclaims, shaking my hand again. “Although, I have to say, you don’t seem to look like a ‘Tim’ to me.” That’s because I’m *not*.

“Well, I better let you go off with your family—“

“No, I wouldn’t hear of it,” he laughs. “Come; sit with my family.”

The one time I *want* a rude person to help me, I get Mother Theresa.

---

I park at the only available spot—the Happy Harry’s Department Store across the street. I practically drag Matt out of the car, grabbing his hand. “Cheer up, Matt, your brother is graduating.” God only knows *how*, but he *is*.

He snorts. “I don’t care. I’m missing Martian Manhunter, mom! *Martian* *Manhunter*! The most schway show in the *whole* universe, and I have to miss a *marathon* of it!”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very ‘schway’, Matt,” I reply curtly. “But this is even schwayer.”

He crinkles his nose at me. “Is that even a real *word*?”

I roll my eyes. Kids.

---

This sucks.

I mean, I’m happy for my bro, and all—mention that to anyone and you *die*, got it?—but still…Martian Manhunter, man! I mean, he is *SOO* schway! So much cooler than *Terry*.

Mom practically drags me across the busy street, unwillingly of course, and I follow her down the long stretch of road that leads to the school. The road doesn’t offer much as far as eye candy, so I look up to see—

Whoa. “Sch-way!”

I can almost feel Mom perk up when I say that. Whoa, there’s a whole *mass* of people there! They look like ants or bees. Probably about as annoying too, but I don’t care. What with all the different mass of colors, with the blue and black mainly intertwining—gotta love that word of the day toilet paper—through the crowd, it’s just…schway. I can’t explain it. It’s just—wow.

“Looking more forward to seeing Terry graduate now?”

I hide the evil grin that threatens to rise on my face. “Yup, mom,” I reply, patting my back pants pocket. The *only* good thing about these monkey suits is that they have *alot* of pockets. Wink wink hint hint nudge nudge.

“This is gonna be so much more schway than Martian Manhunter.”

---

I had to arrive earlier than most people waiting in line, being a graduate, and all. They wanted us here a full half hour before the doors even opened. And of all the slaggin' times my bike breaks down, it has to be *today*.

I manage to park my bike by the side of the road about three or four miles from the school, yanking out my cap and gown. I catch a bus at the nearest station, but the traffic is *horrible*—thank you, Hamilton Hill High—so I decide to get off and foot it. Okay, so it’s around a mile and a half, but I manage to get there in about…twenty minutes or so.

Well, I’m late, what else is new?

I hastily put the gown and hat on as I make a mad dash for the door, panting. I utter quiet apologies as I bump into person after person. I get to the door and the woman taking tickets stops me. “Do you have a ticket?” She asks, not looking up.

Uh, *hello*? “I’m a graduate,” I snap back. “I need to get in.”

Her eyes finally rise to meet mine, but her expression doesn’t change. “You were supposed to be here 45 minutes ago.”

And 17 seconds. “I know, I’m sorry. I got held up in traffic,“ I point to the piling cars around the parking lot. “As you can see.”

“You should’ve been here—“

“45 minutes ago, I know. But I’m here now and the ceremony hasn’t started, so I need to get in,” I explain as calmly as possible. I don’t think it goes over well because she turns impatient.

“Well, if you were listening to what the principal was saying during practice, you would’ve heard him say that if you came late, you had to wait in line.” My face falls. No way— “So, you have to wait in line.”

No freakin’ way. “You’re kidding me right? The line is three blocks long! There’s no way I’m gonna get in there in time!”

“Well, that’s your fault,” she replies snidely, her eyes traveling to the people behind me. “Get in line, sir.”

Oh, that’s a load a crap, and I’m about to tell her as much when another idea comes to mind.

This isn’t the *only* way into the school.

--More madness ensues in the next post!--

[Iceblade5]

Surely Matt won't do anything *too* horrible on his brother's graduation, would he? Then again, you never know with that kid. ;) I like the four-point perspective thing...everyone's shocked Terry's actually graduating. ;) Looking forward to more!
-Ice

[Daughterof_Evil]

Yikes, chaos insues? It has to with Matt, Terry *actually* graduating, Ace the dog, and Bruce Wayne pretending he's blind. I love that part. It was so damn hilarious.

I remember my brother's graduation and the boring stuff, too, so I can relate to Matt. When I pulled out a book to read, my mom yelled at me. Oh well.

[Supergirl]

I remember my brothers graduation, i had to play in the dang band for it...anywho!

This is great so far! Bruce, pretending he's BLIND? i love it! Can't wait to read the next part!

Supes jr.

[The_NewCatwoman]

Wow, this *made me feel all tingly inside*:p No seriously, I've never ever thought of something like this before. Really creative, and a damn good job. Keep up the writing!

P.S. Did ya read the first part of my new story called 'Broken'?

-bye:D

I haven't been to any high school graduations because I have no older brother's, and my sister is my twin soooo...

NEway, they all take place at like 12:00 in the afternoon, when I'm still in school. Oh well, too bad,...:rolleyes:

[Panther]

I think the word of the day tolet paper made me laugh the hardest, although teh smurf reference is a close second. LOL! (but please tell me you made that product up! Ugh, gross!)

So, Terry's graduating. >Sniff< never thought I'd see the day! And like everything in his life, it looks like it won't come easy. Love the differing point of views. As Matt says - Sh'way

Keep going!

[SilverKnight]

Actually, panther, the smurf robe comment is one I used regularly when wearing my choir robe, which was--poigniantly--blue. I hated those robes, so they were so thick, and I felt like a friggin blue blowfish in them, because the arms were all puffy like a pirates. I mean, seriously, if you were blow up the arms, I felt like I could fly. and thus, I called it the "smurf robe" and I swore at that thing every single time I had to lug it around school. I'm fairly certain my teachers regularly heard me call the "smurf robe" too, because of the knowing little grins and them just shaking their heads at me when I brought the thing in.

So, there you have it. See, it's a funny comment, and I figured I just HAD to put it in here. >shrugs< Hey, if it's good material, why not use it, eh? :D Well, I'm gettin the rest out soon, don't worry.

[SilverKnight]

--Nope, not done yet, still. But I have a better idea of what I'm gonna do. >grins< So, enjoy.--

C’mon, Wayne, you’ve dealt with the likes of Joker and Two-Face, you can’t lie your way away from one simple nice guy?

Yeah, I’ve never *dealt* with nice guys before, I retort.

I blink. I’m arguing with myself.

I decide to go for something resembling the truth. “No, I don’t want to be a bother, really—“

He chuckles lightly. “Nonsense, it’d be my pleasure.”

I shake my head slowly. “You see, I’m waiting for my—family to arrive.” I force an impish grin. “They’re still outside somewhere. They dropped me and my dog off to go park, thinking I would be waiting in one of the lines. However—as I stated before—my dog seemed to be a little…confused by the commotion.” I pause, seeing if he’d say anything. “I’d rather not worry them further by sitting with your family. They may think I’ve had a heart attack or something. Plus, I don’t want to burden your family—“

“Oh, my family would be glad to have another person with us.”

My God, does this man *stop*? “No, really, sir, I’d rather not. Thank for the offer though,” I reply quickly, losing my patience. Dilating your pupils isn’t the most pleasant of things to subject your eyes to.

“Alright.” He sounds a little dejected. “Well, I’m glad to have met you, Tim.” He grabs my hand again.

“Same to you, John,” I say cheerfully, again giving him a handshake. From what little vision I have, I watch him turn his back to me and begin to walk towards one of the massive double doors, where people are being seated. I immediately bring my hands up to my closed eyes, rubbing them for a few moments. Relieved that the pain is now gone, I open my eyes again—

Everything’s still bright and blurry. I close my eyes again, counting to five calmly. Okay, it’s just because they’ve been dilated for so long. Yet again, I open my eyes…and everything’s white. Not bright and blurry. White. I feel like I’m either standing at the gates of Heaven or I’m in front of a freight train. Don’t tell me I burned the retina’s again…

Okay, I reason. The reason you have a pupil—more appropriately an iris—is to let in or keep out light. The movement of the iris is an involuntary reaction—you can’t control it. (Well, *I* can; I’ve had years of training, and I learned how to take voluntary control of involuntary muscles. It’s quite fascinating actually, but I digress.) If too much *is* let in, it burns the retina.

And since I thought up the oh-so intelligent idea of dilating my pupils to where they were wide open, I’m fairly certain that burning my retina is what I’ve accomplished. So, therefore, I’m going to get the same “bright spot” effect as people get when someone takes a picture with a flash camera, but instead of a dot, it will be everything—and instead of a few minutes, it will most likely last for a few *days*.

Hindsight’s a wonderful thing, don’t you think?

I pull out a pair of sunglasses from my breast pocket—better to be safe than sorry—and place them on my face. I reach down and pet Ace for a moment. “Now Ace, you’re actually going to have to be my eyes for a bit.” He whimpers. “I know, boy, I feel the same way. Are you ready to help me?” He barks quietly, my confirmation. I nod, pleased. “Good. Now find me the seat farthest from the stage as possible.”

I know what you’re thinking. But, I’m blind; the whole point you sit up front is to *see* your kid graduate—I can’t do that, so why waste a good space? Plus, Terry might see me with the sunglasses and…that would not be a good thing.

Ace tugs me forward with a jolt, and I almost lose my balance. “When we get out of this, Ace,” I start, “remind me to teach you the meaning of the word ‘finesse’.”

---

I sigh, checking my watch. We’ve been in line for almost twenty minutes, and I *still* don’t see the front door. Then again, I don’t see *anything* except for this guy’s back—he’s huge. I have to crane my neck up to look at his bald head. Which really isn’t anything to look at, believe me. So, I go back to taking in the surroundings.

Not much *there*, either. But the commotion—as Matt said—is really “schway”, I guess. It’s…entrancing. And in a line this long, entrancing isn’t a bad deal. The bulk ahead of me takes a few steps forward, which for the rest of us mere mortals would be a few *yards* forward.

Not that *I* mind, of course.

Hey, I see the front door, now! I hear people in front of me mutter the most obscene things about some guy butting in line. Hmph. That’s rude. “Stay in line, Matt.” He doesn’t seem to listen, but I don’t really have time to argue. I crane my neck around the tub of rocks and see…and see…a guy walking into the door, with a dog. Seems familiar, but I can only see his retreating back, so I dunno. Guess he’s blind. That’s not *too* bad.

I turn to say something to Matt, but I completely forget what as someone rams into me from behind. “Sorry,” I hear him mumble, and I’m barely able to turn around before I see a figure in a black cap and gown running for the side of the building.

*He* seems familiar too, but I can see even *less* of him than the first guy. Hm.

Weird.

---

Dude, I so could be watching Martian Manhunter now, in the cool shade, in my normal, worn in—Mom calls them “ratty”, but she’s a girl, what does she know?—clothes. Instead, I’m stuck in this black monkey suit, standing in the scalding hot sun in a mile-long line, behind a mammoth of a guy that you’d *think* provide shade.

Somebody up there hates me.

I hear people mutter something about somebody butting in. That’s unschway, man. I mean, what makes *that* guy so important? Mom turns around, about to say something, when someone bumps into her. Mom jerks forward, using my head to stop her from falling. I’m able to glance from the folds of her dress—

*Terry*? Why would the dork wanna go around the back? Is he getting to the back of the line? I think about the possibility for a moment. Nah, he’d never get inside in time—that and he’s too impatient to wait, unlike us normal people. Plus, the way he ran off makes me think that he doesn’t want to be seen. An evil grin forms on my face without me asking my mouth to do so.

“Matty,” Mom says in a far off voice, “did he look like someone familiar to you?”

“Nah,” I reply. He doesn’t want Mom to know, that much is for sure. Blackmail galore.

This may turn out to be a fun event yet.

---

I turn the corner, ducking behind a dumpster. Crap, I think I just ran into Mom. If she finds out I had to do this, she’s gonna be so mad at me—breaking into your high-school to get to your own graduation isn’t exactly on the tops of the “acts mom should be proud of” list.

I slide along the wall, until I’m sure no one can see me. Using some techniques Bruce taught me, I vault myself up onto a small lip of the wall, balancing myself on the two inch overhang. Okay, I had some help from the dumpster to get up here; ya happy now? However, doing this was a lot easier in a skin-tight suit than in a cap and gown…

My foot slips—rookie mistake—and I begin to plummet back down, but instead manage to grab the small overhang on the other side of the wall. See, this is almost like an alley—albeit a very, very thin alley, but an alley nonetheless. I dig my fingernails into the cement, using all my upper body strength to pull myself up, to keep myself from a nasty fall about fifteen feet down. But, lucky me, there’s nothing to grab onto, so I have to do that nice little balancing act again—only this time on my knees.

Get your mind outta the gutter, okay?

What I’m about to do I didn’t learn from Bruce, either. This is straight me, when I was running with the gangs. Whenever we had to climb over a locked fence, Big Time always sent me to go first. They’d push me up to the fence—sometimes just centimeters thick—and I’d balance myself on my knees, because I’d never been able to master this with my feet…as you can see by my display before. Well, anyway, I’d balance myself on my knees—don’t ask me how I was able to, but I did—and use my legs and all my strength able to kick myself up into the air, and land on my feet. As soon as I landed on the fence, I’d leap over, sometimes somersaulting in the air. Why didn’t I just climb over like any sane person? Call it overkill. And what sane person would dress up as a giant Bat and fight crime? I rest my case.

Now that isn’t exactly what I need to do. In fact, there’s a lot different here. One, this isn’t a fence—it’s a wall. So my balance is gonna be off. Two, this isn’t a fence, it’s a wall. Therefore my feet aren’t going to be placed in the same way. Three, I need to jump *backwards*, because the roof is within jumping distance of the overhang behind me. Here I’m screwed. Well, enough musing, because I can feel my balance starting to slip. I concentrate, and jerk my legs downward the same time I pull my upper body back. I immediately bring my knees up to my chest, my shoes touching the cement. As soon as I feel that, I push out with all my strength, sending my flying backwards. I gotcha now, you lousy, stinkin—oh crap *twist*—*TWIST*!

As I planned the soles of my shoes hit the other lip. Too bad I’m not in ‘em. Who’da thought you’d need to check to see if your shoes were tied before you try death defying acrobatics?

The wind’s knocked out of me when my back collides with the heap of trash in the dumpster. Well, at least it wasn’t the ground. I hazard to open my eyes to check for any debris coming my way—and promptly close my eyes as my shoes land smack dab right between eyes.

Somebody up there hates me.

--There ya go!--

[Daughterof_Evil]

Can someone say" That was freaking hilarious!"!?

I loved the part about Matt blackmailing his brother and Terry's "acts mom should be proud of" list. Geez, give the guy a break! He dresses up in spandex and fights crime and *actually* graduates! It's a miracle!

[Batgirl]

I usually don't go for BB fic, but this is great! I can't wait to see what Matt has planned, and Terry! I hope he gets in on time! I can see it now, "Terry Maginnis(sp)"... "Terry McGinnis(sp)"... no Terry... gee, this is great, post soon!

[SilverKnight]

--Yay! Part 3! Big long part too! Sorry for the delay folks! :)--

Why he leads me to the middle of the aisle, I’ll never know. But he does, and I feel him sit in front of me, giving me the not-so-subtle cue that this is where he wants to sit. And right about now, I have little choice. So, I sit, preparing for probably the most aggravating three hours of my life. After all, I have nothing to look at—literally—and I have no one to talk to.

‘Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into *this* time, Wayne,’ my ever-working mind gripes. ‘This is truly pathetic. I mean, you’ve survived—what?—three decades fighting the worst the world has to offer, and what do you do at someone’s graduation? You blind yourself. You put yourself into such a horrible situation(on your own, mind you), because you were too stupid to think of putting the sunglasses on *beforehand*. What a way to show off your intellect.’

I promptly tell my brain to shut up for a little while.

Ace whimpers slightly, and I feel someone sit next to me. “C’mon, Myrtle—“ There are people actually named *Myrtle*? “—sit down, already!”

“Buck,” Myrtle I’m assuming simpers, “I’m trying to…it’s just that—“

“Just what?” Buck scoffs. “There are plenty of seats around. Pick one and sit *down*.”

“Buck—“

Oh for the love of— “By all means,” I reply, standing from my seat, and taking the one next to it. Ace isn’t in the best of moods, considering he was comfortable where he was, but he slides across the few feet of floor and settles in front of my feet again.

“Sir—sir, it’s quite alright—“ She stammers. “I—I don’t want to be a bother—“

“Nonsense, it would be my pleasure,” I reply instantly, trying to be as charming as possible. And, no the irony of what I’ve said is not lost upon me. For a brief moment, I wonder where John is in the crowd. I wonder if he sees me, and thinks this ignorant oaf next to me is my family. I contain a shudder of disgust.

She’s silent for a moment, and then utters a quiet, “thank you.” I hear her sit down.

I barely manage to take my seat before that Buck guy pipes up again. “Myrtle, move.”

I suppress the sudden urge to roll my eyes, and then figure, “what the hell” and roll them anyway. “What? Why?” She asks, confused.

“Look, we’ll switch seats, it’s just this woman’s hair has a big poof—“ I hear a distinct “hmph!” from the poofy woman. “—and the seat in front of you doesn’t have anybody there.”

“Buck, it’s not that bad,” Myrtle rebukes. “Plus, if you *couldn’t* see over it, what makes you think I *could*?”

“You’re resourceful. You’ve sat behind ‘em before,” he replies, deadpan. A small snort escapes my lips, and I quickly turn my head the other way. What a jerk.

“Then why’d you sit there in the first place, Buck?” She questions, her soft voice tinged with annoyance.

“Because the lady wasn’t there before,” he retorts pointedly, his voice patronizing. “Now she is, and I can’t see.”

I’m surprised the “poofy-haired lady” hasn’t turned around and slapped him in the face yet. Or moved out of his way, just to shut him up. Guess she’s too stubborn. Spite…don’t you just love it?

“Then we can move to another part of the aisle, Buck,” she explains calmly. “One poofy-haired lady is not going to keep me from watching my son graduate.”

“Good. Then you can switch seats with me.”

Frankly, I’m surprised *she* hasn’t slapped him in the face yet.

She sighs loudly, and I hear her stand again. Shuffling noises are made as I assume they switch seats, and the rather large man I figure to be “Buck” sits next to me again. Just then I realize that I’ve moved farther into the aisle, making any “escape” as it were impossible should I need to leave in a rush.

Great.

More people sit next to me, and the outright chatter quiets. People are shushing eachother all around, which leaves me to assume they’re starting. One good thing about being the middle of the aisle—Terry couldn’t see me even if he wanted to.

“Looks like you have company, Buck,” Myrtle giggles. Ah. The “poofy-haired lady” must be giving him her regards for his eloquence.

I hear him growl in annoyance beside me. I hide the grin that’s tugging at my lips. I make a mental note to shake the woman’s hand after this is all over. Someone as vengeful as her I have to meet.

“Hey, Mac. Move,” the reproachable Buck addresses me. I want to say ‘like hell’, but instead I give him no visible reaction, and keep my head turned the other way.

Hey, I’m blind, I might as well act deaf too.

He pauses for a moment, befuddled. (Yes, that’s an actual word.) “Hey…hey you!” The only way I know he’s waving his hand next to my head is because I feel the small wind he’s making send a chill down my spine. I would normally never let a person do such a thing to me, but I’m trying to keep my patience, and thus continue to pay him no mind. He pokes me in the shoulder, and it’s all I can do to keep from shoving my foot so far up his a— “Waddaya deaf?”

“If I told you yes, would you shut up?” I snap, still facing the other direction.

He pauses, and sounds almost shocked when he retorts, “hey old man, didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”

My reply is immediate. “Yes my mother *did* teach me manners, but apparently yours *didn’t*.”

I hear a few snickers of laughter behind me as he replies distastefully, “so, what? Are you blind or just stupid?”

I finally pivot my head around, so it’s facing somewhere around his, and let him see the sunglasses on my face. “I dunno…” I start, mimicking his urban drawl for a moment, much to the amusement of the people behind me, “you tell me.”

I wish I could see the look on the man’s face right now. I know it had to be something…amusing, because the figures behind me break down into hysterics. I believe I even hear the woman Myrtle chuckling softly, gasping, “he gotcha there, Bucky,” between fits of laughter.

This may not be so bad, after all.

---

I stare into the mammoth room, a veritable mob swarming about the stage. Well, so much for sitting in the front. I pass my gaze over the seats(all fifty-million rows of them) and my eyes lock upon the nearest open seats—all the way in the back of the auditorium.

I *knew* I should’ve brought binoculars with me.

I grip Matty’s hand tightly as I weave through several clusters of people blocking the aisles. Out of sheer curiosity, I strain my eyes about the chairs, seeing if Mr. Wayne is here. However, I don’t see him. Hmph, I’m not surprised. A vampire like him would never go out into the light of day. No, that’s mean, I tell myself. Mr. Wayne’s a good man, and seems to be a real positive influence on Terry. Still…a little walk now and again…

‘Shush, Mary,’ the voice chides. ‘You’re being rude. How the man wants to conduct himself is entirely his business.’

Well, it *becomes* my business when my son is around him, I tell the snide little voice. Plus, Terry is gone all night, doing God-knows-what, coming back with such bruises and gashes that I’ve never seen him endure while in those awful gangs of his. Not to mention it’s affected Terry’s school performance—

‘He never did good in school *before* he met Wayne,’ the little snot says. ‘At least he’s *graduating*. Be happy the old man got him to do *that* much.’

Oh shut up, you little twit.

‘Touchy, aren’t we?’

I sigh. I hate my conscience sometimes.

---

I’m itching to get out of this suit. Literally. It’s made of wool—*wool*! Of *all* things to wear in the middle of June, she gives me *wool*.

I’m hot, sweaty, annoyed, and tired. And of course, Mom has to drag me around a bunch of people who have a really weird smell to them, and to top the slaggin’ cake off, we won’t even be able to *see* the twip graduate. I mean, the people standing near the stage are dots.

I’m missing Martian Manhunter for *this*?

This blows. The only thing semi-redeeming about this is the fact of what I’m gonna do to liven this joint up. Maybe everybody here will appreciate what I’m doing for them. I mean, hey, you only live once, right?

Plus, *Terry* was a delinquent, why can’t *I* be? I don’t hide the demonic grin that crosses my face. Payback’s a you-know-what. (I can’t swear. Got my mouth washed out with soap the last time I did. And to let you know—lemon-scented Palmolive does *not* taste like lemons.)

Mom shoves through the crowds sitting us in the middle of the rows. Who knows why, I mean, the edge would be much easier for me to get out. Then it hits me. Maybe that’s why she went in the middle, to keep me from escaping at some point. Geez, why do I feel like a caged animal all of a sudden? ‘Bad tiger, you’re supposed to jump *through* the loop of fire, not run *from* it.’ Sheesh.

I sigh. I think I just found the bigger, fatter, uglier sister of the bulk that stood in front of me and Mom in the line. And of all places the freak has to land, she has to be in the chair in front of me. Maybe I’ll take this as a bad omen of the time to come. Then again, if I wanted to start believing in bad omens, the words “Terry’s graduating” should’ve set off all kinds of warning bells right from the get-go.

In my boredom, I suddenly wonder if Mr. Wayne’s here. But, with the Incredible Bulk in front of me, I can’t see anything other than a pink flower-printed muumuu. I hate life. Then my hand brushes across my jacket pocket as I rearrange my tie, and I perk up. Again.

Ugh, I hate this suit though. I’m so hot, I just want to fall asleep in my chair. I mean, I could be—no, don’t go there, Matt. Stay focused. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts…think of all the people laughing at Terry. Think of all the times he called you “twip” and talked down to you and—think of all the schway episodes of Martian Manhunter you’re going to miss. *There* we go…

Now just sit back and enjoy the ride. Terry, I hope you’re enjoying yourself, ‘cause come your time to walk across the stage, you’re gonna wish you were never born.

---

I want to scream.

‘Nice one, McGuiness. Of *all* the times your Godforsaken luck has to come back to bite you in the butt, it has to *now*. At the most important night of your life.’

Oh, it is *not*. Taking down Blight was a big thing for me, too.

‘Yeah, but it didn’t take you thirteen years of work to *get* there, did it? It took you a few years of practice at breaking and entering and a suit you had to steal from a senile old man.’

Hey, he’s *not* senile, you idiot! If anyone’s senile, it’s you—

‘You mean *us*.’

I growl. I hate my conscience.

I pry myself out of remains, standing calf-deep in possibly the nastiest stuff I’ve ever seen in my entire life. *Without* shoes. Ugh. Life hates me. Life *so* hates me. This is disgusting. This is nasty. This is—

‘Annoying. Shut up and just find your stupid shoes.’

Shut the f—

‘Ah, watch your language.’

I want to kill somebody.

I dunk my hand into the mess again, grinding my jaw. It’s just a bad day, shake it off. Just a bad day, it’s just a bad day, it’s just a bad day…

My grime-covered foot hits something hard, and I turn my gaze over to the offending object. I freeze, in a precarious position to say the least—in a dumpster, half bent over in my graduation gown with my butt up in the air, and my hand dipped almost elbow deep in garbage. If I could kick myself in the head without falling face first, I would. ‘Yeah, smart one, your shoes hit you in the face, remember?’

Yeah. *Now*. I take a deep breath, immediately regretting it. Dumpster, Sherlock, dumpster. Of course it’s gonna smell. I close my eyes, calming myself. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean…

I wrench my hand out of the muck, grab my shoes and hurriedly hop out of the pile of trash. I haphazardly drop my shoes on the gravel, and proceed to wipe off my gown. Then I remember one of my hands is covered in filth, and change the tactic.

You know what? Screw it.

I take the gown off, and shake it thoroughly, most of the chunks flying off in a matter of seconds. Then again, I’m also getting out pent up frustration, so I’m surprised I haven’t ripped the collar to shreds yet. I don’t know how long I whip the midnight black material in the air, but I stop when I no longer feel my arms, dropping them to my side for a moment. I check over the robe, and when I surmise that there are no stains noticeable from a long distance, I slip it back on.

Some Batman, huh? I get locked out of my own graduation, attempt to climb up on the roof, and fall right smack dab into a dumpster full of ooey-gooey goodness. My nose tickles for a moment. Oh come *on*…

I can’t help it. I squeeze my eyes shut and let loose with a huge sneeze.

Ugh. And to top one of the worst days of my life off, I’m getting a cold. Why me? What did I do? Sure I picked on Matt a lot, and I forgot to bring home milk whenever Mom asked me, and sure I never listened to Bruce when he gave me a direct order but *C’MON* already! I always paid for those mistakes—Mom yelled at me(for both number one *and* number two) and *Bruce* yelled at me. With a man like him bellowing at the top of his lungs specifically at *you*, trust me, you get the point fast. I learned my lessons…sort of.

But, man, this isn’t *fair*! This is total crap! I sniffle, and catch a whiff of how I smell. Literally, in my case. I mean, everyone’s expecting to see me all happy walking across the stage and *where* am I? Standing barefoot, covered in gunk in front of a dumpster behind my school.

I want to get this Godforsaken day *over* with.

---

False alarm, I guess. I don’t hear that god-awful graduation song—can’t stand it. I despise it. ‘Like it matters, you rarely heard it. Especially when it *counted*.’

Shut up. I had work.

‘Right. And I warned you about how well it would go over explaining to your son that some petty thug was more important than him.’

I never meant it like that and you *know* it.

‘*We* do. He *doesn’t*. Big difference.’

I rub my unseeing eyes wearily. Ace whines, pressing up against my feet. I stare down in his general direction blankly. “Oh, bored already I see?” He harrumphs, setting around my ankles. Hmph.

Thanks for the confidence booster.

So far, this night is not boding well at all. Gulping back a sigh, I think of ways to stave off certain insanity. Y’know, I could go for a drink right now. I know what you’re thinking and no I don’t drink. But in a situation like this, I’m sorely tempted to start…

“Terry *McGuiness*? He’s *graduating*?” Buck sneers.

Yeah, I could *really* go for a drink right now. Or a twenty-pound sledge. Either or.

The very music I despise starts blaring, drowning out all other sounds. Complete sensory deprivation was less maddening than this. I barely manage to make out the two arguing over the boy. My luck. “Buck…he seems like a nice boy,” Myrtle snaps.

“Heh, that wimp,” he replies indignantly. “Never even *fought* with my boy, even though he was given the chance. I think he was *scared*. Nelson could’ve wiped the floor with him.”

I literally bite my tongue to keep from spewing out what this man *obviously* needs to hear. I bet I could wipe the floor with *you*. I’ve been taking down boorish morons like you since your *father* was in elementary school. Of course I don’t say that, but God I wish I could. They continue to bicker, and I massage the bridge of my nose.

Where’s a gun-toting psychopath when you need one?

---

I lean back in the hard metal chair, trying to relax as much as possible for the wait ahead. The lights dim down to the point where I can barely make out my skinny white legs in front of me. Trust me, for my legs to be almost unseeable in *any* light, is a feat to behold.

Then again, that may not be a bad thing.

However, no music booms in my ears, though. My eyes follow up to a screen flowing down from an unseen compartment in the ceiling of the auditorium. For a moment, I forget about all that I’ve been squabbling over in my head, and my eyes focus upon the images in front of me.

Baby pictures.

They made a vid with baby pictures of the graduating students. That’s…cute. The screen fills with various photos of snaggle-toothed smiles and kids wearing cheesy grins. Beside the picture the person’s name is written in those cheap text graphics. Despite myself, I smile. Everyone—all the people sitting and chatting and laughing—were once children, like the high school students.

Like Terry. And like Matt. My little boys. Even Matt’s incessant whining seems to have subsided for the moment. I blink, remembering something suddenly.

Terry asked where I put the old family photos.

My grin brightens a couple of shades as the photo pops up alone upon the screen. He’s eight, wearing his favorite Superman T-shirt, wearing the largest grin on his face I’ve ever seen before or since. He *still* loves that thing. I guarantee you if he could stretch it out and wear it, he would. In his much smaller hands he holds a plaque, his only prize. A gymnastics award. Yeah, I know, hard to believe. But Terry was actually an aspiring gymnast. Oh, he’d come home from practice and talk to me and his father for *hours*, showing us the new moves he learned. He was so *happy*.

Then we divorced.

And Terry…just stopped going.

And a few years later, he started with the gangs. I felt so…*responsible* for him running into the law. My smile falters, the pain and guilt flooding back. No. He’s off that lifestyle now. Terry would *never* do that again. Not with a father figure like Mr. Wayne behind him. The smile began to rise from the ashes.

*Then* I heard some snide voices a few rows behind me. “Terry *McGuiness*? He’s *graduating*?” I’m about to turn around, when the graduation song screams through the room, making me momentarily deaf. Anything I could or would say now would be totally lost upon whoever said that.

Well, we’re here, and it’s starting. Now I just need to find a way to stay awake—not to mention sane—until he walks across the stage.

Joyous day.

---

An uncountable amount of people in a room, and *none* of them have heard of deodorant? Everyone in this whole giant place reeks, except for mom, who always smelled like a cross between cinnamon and cereal. I’m about to fake—well, embellish anyway—nausea when the graduation song screaming over the speakers. I can barely hear myself think, much less talk to mom about sneaki—er, going to the bathroom.

So much for that idea.

Spots of light flood the dark room as the graduates start filing in. For a second I wonder where Terry is in that very *very* *VERY* long line outside. Then I remember—it’s Terry. He wouldn’t be in the line at all. He would’ve found a shortcut in or something like that.

Or he could just *break* in.

Pfft, yeah right. *That’d* be funny if I heard that. Mainly because Terry would be burnt to a crisp for pulling a stunt like that by Momzilla. (Momzilla is my pet name for Mom when she has the evil-eye look…thing going on with Terry. But never with me, ‘cause I’m not stupid enough to get her *that* mad.) ‘Well be prepared to. Because that’s no worse than what you’re pulling,’ my conscience-thingy tells me.

Shut up, I’m eight, and it’s not even my graduation anyway.

‘And if Terry were to do this on *your* graduation as retribution?’

I snort. I’d like to see *that* one happen. Nobody’s that flexible. Except for Batman maybe. But he wouldn’t show up at my graduation, so what does it matter?

‘You ever heard of karma?’

No. Wait—how do *you* know what it is?

‘Because I’m the part of you that actually *listens* to what people say.’

Hey, cheap shot. My mind wanders—

‘Yeah, whatever helps you sleep.’

It does, thank you. Why’d you bring it up anyway?

‘Karma is your spirit. When do you something bad, you’ll wind up paying for it, but it may not always be in this lifetime,’ he explains.

Mom. It has to be from mom. No way Terry would ever tell me that. When it comes to keeping information in that pea-brain of his, he’s worse than I am. So what, I shoot back. It’s in another life, I don’t have to worry about it ‘til then.

‘It *may* be in another life, I said,’ he corrects. Stupid technicalities. ‘But with Terry, you know full well he’ll never wait that long.’

Hm. You got a point.

‘Darn right I do.’

Hmph. Aren’t we full of ourselves?

‘No more than you are.’

Shut up.

---

Okay, let’s try this again, shall we? This time I take the time to carefully put down the lid to the dumpster, so if I fall this time, I’ll just break a couple of ribs. Hey, at least it won’t mess up my robe as much.

Déjà vu. I stand on the lid, vaulting up to the ledge, pulling myself up on the tiny overhang. I don’t waste time with thinking about my actions, and just act out of instinct. Before I lose my balance and land in another heap on the ground, I push off the cement, outstretching my hands. I stare up, and it seems like forever as I near the overhang of the roof. And it seems like forever and I start to plummet back down.

Oh crap, I’m falling!

Instinct. Gotta love it. I tuck into a ball, and an instant later push my legs out with all my might. I know I know, I did this last time and landed in the dumpster, but hey, I’m a quick learner. I twist to face the other wall, pulling my knees up to my chest, repeating what I had done before. I launch off the wall, and some stupid little saying pops into my head. “What goes up must come down.”

Yeah, well, been there, done that. And I have the bruises to prove it.

I can’t keep bouncing off the walls, though, because of that nasty little thing called gravity. But I don’t think I have to. I whirl around in mid air, stretching out my arms; I hope the cap that’s been nestled between my pants and shirt won’t fall out. Luck—finally—is with me, and I skid across the roof without a hitch. Well…if you don’t consider falling into a dumpster a hitch, I guess.

I pull out the cap, to find it relatively unscathed. I wipe off the stray bits of dust and grime that has amassed itself on my gown as I hold the cap in my other hand, shielding the waning sunlight from my eyes. I’m starting to hate sunlight more and more, thank you Mr. Former-Batman-Bruce-Wayne. Sheesh. And people think farmer’s tans are bad.

Now if I remember correctly—which right now I’m *really* hoping I am—the doorway that leads to the auditorium is a few yards to my left. And a couple levels up, and then down. Stupid multi-level school.

Surprisingly enough, the trek to the doorway goes down like clockwork. Not one slip up, literally or otherwise. Which means I’m going be in for it whenever I *do* get to the stairwell. I drop to the ground, feet from the door, and my stupid brain has to start acting up on me again. What are Dana and Max doing? What would Mom and the twip think of me if they found out I did this? Geez, what would *Wayne* think? I shudder to think of his punishment. I near the door and hear—

Oh no. I strain my ears, hoping it’s not what I think it is. Oh, please don’t let it be, *please* don’t let it be…

Slag it. Slag slagslagslagslag. I’m *SOOOO* dead.

---

The couple to the left of me whistles loudly, I’m assuming at their son, “Nelson”. I recognize the name as the same punk kid that was always giving McGuiness a hard time at school. And if they do turn out to be the same person, I won’t be surprised. His father would be a spitting image of him. Well, a bigger, fatter image of him, anyway.

I wonder where Terry is?

---

I scan the myriad of faces that appear from the various doors, but have yet to see Terry enter. Well, I tell myself, it’s a big graduating class, Terry’s just farther back, that’s all.

That *better* be all, because this is *his* graduation. I mean, he’s missed a lot of important events due to Mr. Wayne, but…he wouldn’t miss *this*…

Right?

---

I don’t see Terry yet. I grin evilly. He’s gonna be in *so* much trouble...

---

I’m so screwed right now, it’s not even funny. Well, it isn’t funny in the first place, which makes me feel even worse. Stop panicking, I hiss to myself. You’re right here. Just go in and sneak inside. I reach for the door, and my heart drops. ‘Okay. *Now* start panicking.’

The door’s locked. The lousy stinkin’ door’s locked!

They lock the doors when the students start entering. Great. *Now* I remember that. Frustrated, I kick at the door several times. Still, I only manage to dent the stupid thing. Where the hell’s a strength enhancing suit when you need it?

This is so *not* been my day.

By now, I’m sure Mom and the twip have noticed I haven’t come through yet, so I’m gonna have to make a speedy entrance. My eyes dart wildly around the surrounding area, searching for something—anything—that could provide me with a way to the auditorium.

The old vent at the roof. You breathe on that thing wrong and it breaks off. Problem is, it’s on the other side of the school.

I sigh. Well, it’s better than nothing. I clamber up the iron rungs of the ladder, sprinting to the little ray of hope left for me making my graduation. “Stupid multi-level school,” I mutter as I clear the gap between two levels. In other circumstances I’d be proud of my acrobatics right now. In the back of my mind, this reminds me of when I was little, before my folks split. All I ever wanted to do was jump from tree to tree in parks or impress the kiddies in gym class by doing the most cartwheels.

I skid to a stop, springing to the highest point of the school, the home of “Old Smokey”. Our nickname for the vent, because after school, you’ll see a thick smoke pouring out from it. See, the reason they never replaced the vent with a new, more secure one—like the rest of the school has—is because this vent leads directly to the incinerator. And no one would be crazy or dumb enough to break into school through *that*.

Well, what can I say? Stupidity at it’s finest.

--There ya go!--

[M'ral]

Silverknight, this is fabulous! Poor Terry! I'm eagerly awaiting part 4! Like I said, LOL!! Keep it coming!

[M'ral]

Oops, sorry, I forgot to say please! Please keep it coming! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEEEASE!!!!!;)

[SilverKnight]

:) thanks, M'ral. Y'know, you can call me Krugie. I don't really mind. >grins< Don't worry, I'm writng more. I just have to make sure it sounds halfway decent. Don't want to disappoint the masses now! :D

By the way, did you read my little Playing God thing? It's a column thingie, and nobody's said anything about it. >shrugs< Okay, I'm a review hound. :) Deal with it.

[Isis1]

Dear Silverknight, (sorry, I always try to be proper!:D )

You probably don't remember me, since we haven't talked since "Mental Lapse" on the Batman-Superman.com boards. I was one of the ones egging M'ral and Remicis on! I read your stories with my big sister M'ral, and I enjoy them a lot! :) Please keep going on "Graduation"! It's sooo funny!:D

Your fan,
Isis

PS: I also love "The Terror that Flaps in the Knight". Please sontinue it soon!!! Please?:(

PPS: Your "Playing God" column was really good too. It was well written and very true. Thanks for sharing it!

[Isis1]

Please sontinue it soon!!!

I meant continue. Really!:D

[M'ral]

Hey, Krugie! *whew* God, that feels good! I don't think I'll ever get used to calling you Silverknight!:D Thanks!

Anyhoo, yes, I did read your "Playing God" column, and I loved it! It was just so...different. I never really thought about writing that way, but you've definately got a point. I know I can be too much of a "Soap Opera God" sometimes, but I'm trying to break that habit. Anyway, it was very interesting, and it really got me thinking, which is always a good thing in writing! Bravo!:)

One more thing, I hate to be a slave driver, but KEEP WRITING, GIRL!! ...Please.;)

[SilverKnight]

>grins< I'm working on it, I'm working on it...

Isis I remember you. I remember when you used M'ral's account to egg me on to writing more. :D Speaking of which, how's Remi doing? I *still* haven't drawn his pic...:(...but I will once I find where the hell I stashed his description...if I did, that is. >nervous laughter<

Well I'm glad you've found your way here. :) And don't worry, both Terror and Graduation are coming along. And I even have a sequel to ML in the works. :D Seriously. But I want to finish these first. :cool: Well, I'm off, but I'll be back! Don't worry! :D

[M'ral]

We're not worried, Krugie! We have faith in you.;)

BTW, I tried to email you that Remicis description...three times. It was returned twice. I hope the third time was the charm, because it's been fifteen minutes and it hasn't been returned yet. So please let me know if and when you get it.

A sequel to ML?!! Sounds like fun! I promise Remi and I won't mess this one up!:D I can't wait! (But I will, so no pressure!;) )

[The_NewCatwoman]

Hey, *sings* It's been awhile.

NEway, I'm loving this, it's hilarious, especially the parts with Bruce, but then I've always had a fascination with Bruce's inner working's. Do me a favor would ya? Tell me what you think of Perfect Dark huh?

[SilverKnight]

--Ha ha, I'm back! >ahem< Sort of...:)--

Five minutes, and I’m already losing my mind. Then again, perhaps it’s due to the fact that the music is still playing, which means people are still coming in, which means that the ceremony really hasn’t even *begun* yet.

So, this is what Hell’s like. Would’ve expected it to be a bit warmer.

---

Still no Terry. Maybe it’s in alphabetical order. My eyes catch upon a tall man with flaming red hair, waving to someone on the crowd. The boy Terry talked about a while back. Nash something or other. Well, there goes *that* theory.

---

I’m speechless; amazing, huh? He’s not even *here* yet. I begin to snicker, when I realize that I’ll be here for no reason. We’re in the middle of the row, so we can’t get out without making a fuss, and Mom told me they locked the front doors, so nobody gets in or out of the school.

Dude, I’m gonna be stranded in this place for three hours, and I’ll *still* going to miss Martian Manhunter. And Terry won’t even be *here* to be embarrassed by his friends, so there’s no point to pulling my gag.

That is *so* not schway. That dork better be here and be here soon.

---

Okay, deep breath. Big deep breath, so I don’t choke to death on the billowing smoke that will surely be coming out sooner or later. Right. No pressure. Gotcha.

I yank the old rusted gate off its hinges, quietly laying it down on the cement roof. I poise myself on the edge, and fill my lungs with pungent, but smoke-free air. I jump inside and am immediately enshrouded in darkness. I begin to panic as I feel everything warming. I’m so gonna die…

Then, as I’m flung headlong into a corner, I realize I may live yet. It’s not a straight drop after all. ‘Yeah, then again, you had no idea, since you never checked out the specs of the school’s ventilation system,’ the voice tells me.

The next time I graduate from high school, I’ll make a note to do that, I snap back. Idiot.

I perch myself upon the little ledge, holding my breath for as long as possible before I suck stale, ash-infested air. It’s none too pleasant, by the way, but hey, think on your feet. I attempt to look down the shaft, but see nothing. I shrug to myself. You only live once, right?

‘Yeah, you only *die* once too.’

Will you *please* shut the hell up?

---

I need to find a way to keep myself busy, or else I’ll become very…unmanageable. Let’s see…Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana…

---

This is insane. How many kids *are* there??

---

I never thought it was possible…but this both sucks *and* blows.

---

I launch off the overhang, raising my arms over my head to make sure that: 1) I can fit, and 2) I can grab something, anything, in case I get too close to that flame for comfort. ‘By the time you get too close to that flame for comfort, you’ll be dead.’

Yeah, but so will *you*, so you better shut the hell up and actually *help* me for once.

The voice becomes silent.

Damn straight.

I plummet down the tiny space in total darkness for what seems like eternity, waiting for the inevitable. Hopefully the inevitable will end well, i.e. I survive. On the plus side, if I don’t, this will be one hell of a way to go. Can’t get much more original than this without having to put on a leotard and give yourself a codename. And I do that anyway, so I’m set.

Y’know, it’s funny. It feels like I’m floating…okay, floating in warm oblivion, but floating nonetheless. I guess this is what Hell’s like.

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

Thank you. As if total darkness isn’t foreboding enough.

---

The music is *still* playing. I don’t believe this. I suppress a growl of annoyance. Ignore it, Wayne. Okay, where was I? Oh, yes, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan…

---

Okay, how many kids *are* there? I’ve stopped looking for Terry, considering that there were actually two lines entering the auditorium at the same time, so there’s no way to know which line has him. I stare up, already annoyed. Hm…I wonder how many tiles are on the ceiling…

---

Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer…you take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer…

---

I think I’m losing it.

No.

I *know* I’m losing it.

I’ve long since stopped caring where I land. Maybe it’s the fact I haven’t taken a breath in two minutes. Maybe it’s the fact that the complete sensory deprivation when added with the stress of the past year or so has finally made me crack. Or *maybe* it’s the fact that wherever I land, whether it be metal or flame, I’m dead anyway. It’s been a straight drop the whole time, and according to every law of physics I know, two minute drop + landing = giant human pancake.

Y’know, of all the possible ways I thought of dying, this was never one of them. I begin to chuckle at my situation, resigning myself to my fate, and think of the headlines on the news. “Man Commits Suicide by Leaping in Furnace”, or “Tragic Furnace Accident Incinerates Graduate”. I personally like the second better. Like it matters, I won’t live to see them. I just hope Mom and the twip won’t be too embarrassed.

Mom.

I blink my irritated eyes. Matt. They’re waiting in there for me. Maybe even Wayne’s waiting for me. I can’t let them wait there for nothing. Yeah, you were expecting me to say I can’t die? Well I face it every night, so I’m used to laying my life on the line. So there. Plus, I paid fifty credits for this cap and gown, and I don’t want to waste that money. I’m a tight wad; sue me.

I force myself to focus, jutting my limbs out, attempting to slow my descent at least somewhat. I start to feel tendrils of pain licking my arms and feet from the heat, but I’ll never know if it’s from the friction or the furnace. I don’t really want to know, frankly.

Okay, calm, rational thoughts. Ignore the pain. No, ignore *all* of it. Count backwards from ninety-nine, recite the Latin alphabet, do anything except think. I snort to myself, getting a whiff of smoke, which causes me to bring one of my hands to my face for a moment. You’re tilting, idiot, put your hand back. Put it *back*. *Ignore* the damn pain and put your hand back. Whoa. In my head, that actually *sounded* like Wayne saying it. Weird.

I think I’m starting to slow down, but in my little section of Purgatory, I can’t know for sure. Suddenly, before my brain even registers it, my backside connects with smooth metal and I’m sent into a wide, veering curve. The contact helps slow me further, but my gown may be ruined. Oh shut up, I tell myself. It’ll be covered in soot, so what? Your gown’s *black*, reject.

Oh yeah.

As quick as the refrain from an otherwise endless plummet began, it ends, and I was again weightless in the air. I think I’m slowing down. I *hope* I’m slowing down, because the furnace, bright as ever, is a few hundred yards below me.

Time now starts messing with my mind; everything is moving very slowly. The incinerator isn’t big, it’s probably about the size of a small bedroom. Then again, it’s an *incinerator*. It incinerates. Incinerating is *very* bad when the thing being fried is still *living*. Oh…now I feel *really* sorry for putting the frog in the microwave when I was nine…

My watering eyes bulge, and then I clench them shut from the sudden brightness. Okay, was I ever afraid for my life before? Well, all those fears were nothing compared to the stark terror that’s coursing through my veins right now. Oh, don’t die, don’t die…burning to death is a very painful way to die, I at least want to leave a corpse…

My legs hit a hard surface, the rest of me following suit. My head bucks forward, slamming into the very hot steel surface, but right about now I’m just glad I’ve stopped. If I could kiss the steel without getting my lips burned off I’d do so.

This place is *really* cramped, as you’d expect any vent to be, and I have to maneuver around to see what stopped me from being turned into bat flambé. It’s a grate, probably to keep from small animals or God-only-knows what from falling into the furnace.

Looks like my luck may finally be turning around.

I stand, finding a vent that’s closed. Hm, it’s probably only opened for repairs and such. Sweat rolls down my eyes as I take a closer look. The hell with it. I entwine my fingers around the edge and pull as hard as I can. After a few seconds a resounding pop is heard, and I fall back against the searing metal wall. I turn the lid around in my hands, finding a little iron handle in the middle of the other side. Low-tech, but practical.

Taking the grip in my hand, I hop into the confined space, shifting around so I can close the vent behind me. The temperature in this vent is far cooler, and a chill goes up my spine. Yeah, McGinnis, nice one. What’d you expect when you jump down an incinerator chute?

Hey, I’m alive. No thanks to you, by the way. So, shut your damn mouth and let me graduate in peace.

‘You mean, in *one* piece.’

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

I worm my way through the weaving steel tubes, and eventually make it to a grate. Okay, I know where I am. This is the history wing. The auditorium’s only a few halls away from where I am. I dart my eyes around, making sure there’s no one within line of sight, and push the grille open. Landing in a crouch, I check again, and start down the hall.

I stop by a trophy case, looking at myself. Those head wounds from the vent are rapidly turning various shades of red and purple, and by the time I walk across the stage, they’ll be pretty swollen. Remembering my cap, I reach under my slightly worn but otherwise clean robe, pulling out the awkward hat. I place it gingerly upon my head, trying to hide enough of the bruise that no one will really notice. There. The cap’s bent at a bit of an angle, but it’s better than walking in there with two welts on my forehead. Well, somewhat.

I take a deep breath, preparing for the night that will change my life. I’m alive, I’m still in one piece, albeit tattered, and I’m *so* graduating tonight.

---

…Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, North Dakota, Ohio…

---

Is the whole *state* graduating? I rub the bridge of my nose wearily. The ceremony hasn’t even *started* yet, and I’m ready to leave, which I obviously can’t do. I want to scream, and with the music as loud as it is, no one could hear me if I did.

Matt pokes my bare arm excitedly as I’m bent over. Somewhat annoyed from his little finger jabbing into my flesh repeatedly, I don’t notice what he’s pointing at immediately. Then, the figure, draped in an elegant black robe, turns his head towards me, and smiles.

Terry.

I smile back, and shake my head. The most important day in his life, and he puts his cap on crooked. Like father, like son, I guess.

---

Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer…you take one down, pass it ar—

Terry!

The dork’s here!

Schway! I was getting worried that I’d be here for nothing, too.

Mom’s bent over, rubbing her face the way she always does when she’s tired, and annoyed, and wishing she wasn’t where she had to be. “Mom,” I say. Right, dork, the music’s still on, she can’t hear you. “Mom!” I shout over the music. She still doesn’t hear me. Go figure.

I start poking her arm. I know that’ll get her attention. Even if I get an evil-eye pointed my way, it doesn’t matter. Mom needs some cheering up, and this just may do the trick. Well…kinda…

She looks at me, her lips turned down in a frown, and I can tell she’s right between annoyed/tired, and angry. I’m not stupid enough to try telling her Terry’s here since she can’t hear me, so I point to where he’s walking. Being his little bro, and all, I’d love to say something mean about how he looks. I mean, something like his face’s dirty or his robe’s all wrinkled, but…the only thing I can say is that his hat thing is on all weird. The pointy thing’s that (I think) is supposed to be at the middle of his forehead is bent all over right side of his head.

Well, he never *was* good at dressing himself neatly. Mom laid out his clothes for him until he was ten. *Ten*! And he thinks *I* can’t take care of myself. Ha!

Her eyes follow where my finger’s going, and at first, she just stares with this blank look on her face. She then smiles, shaking her head. Guess she noticed the hat too. It’s the mom in her, I guess. Always looking out for us two screw-ups.

‘Second thoughts?’

No. Just telling the truth.

‘So you *are* thinking about not doing it.’

Am not.

‘Are so.’

Am *not*.

‘Are *so*.’

---

I hussle into the expansive back room, finding the line I’m supposed to be in. “Mr. McGinnis…” Oh no. What’d I do now? “I see you’ve finally graced us with your presence.”

I look at the principal’s impatient face with barely hidden annoyance. I’d like to tell him what I’ve been through the past twenty minutes or so trying to get inside this hell hole and get this nightmare they call “graduation” over with. Instead, though, I answer, “Yeah, sorry. Those lines are insanely long.”

He gazes at me disbelievingly, thinking I’d lie about something like that. I *am*, but that’s not the point. Then, he sighs, nodding. “Alright, your spot is almost up.” I jog off, getting in line. As I start out the door, I hear him call to my back, “oh, and fix your hat. It’s crooked.”

---

…Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, Wyoming…

---

Good, now I can relax and just sit back and watch. And watch, and watch and watch some more.

I hope my son realizes just how much I love him now. This is worth at *least* a kidney.

---

Am *NOT*!

‘Are *SO*!’

Am *NOT*!

‘Are *SO*!’

Quit it.

‘No.’

Hmph. Dork.

‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

Bite me.

‘Such language!’

You wanna hear *more*? …I thought not.

---

I walk calmly down the aisle, searching through the mass of faces, trying to find the twip and Mom. I finally spot them, in the middle of the row, behind a muumuu-wearing Bigfoot. Wow, I’d hate to be related to *her*. Then again, if you were lost in the woods, she’d probably be the one you’d wanna be stuck with. After all, who needs cosmetics (or some form of hair remover) when you can just scare the animals the death?

Mom smiles, and for everything I’ve been though, I can’t help but smile back. Peripherally, I see her shake her head in that motherly ‘oh-he’s-going-to-make-an-idiot-out-of-himself-*now*’ manner. Guess she saw the cap. Well, why not, everyone else and their sister have commented on it since I’ve gotten out here. Graduates, ushers, punk kids from the seats that should be knocked flat on their a…yeah, you get the point.

I continue forward, scanning the crowd around Mom, seeing if Wayne came or not. I think I’d notice him if he were there, though. Well, I’m not surprised he didn’t come. When I gave him the ticket yesterday, he gave me this bemused/annoyed/‘you-can’t-be-serious’ look. He didn’t even say anything; I just told him what time it started and he just nodded his head curtly. That’s it, conversation over. As I said, I’m not surprised.

But I *am* disappointed.

Oh well, I can’t let that taint my day, though. I’ve almost literally gone to Hell and back to get here, and one absentee party is not going to ruin it any worse than, say, falling in a dumpster full of crud would. And nobody’s even *commented* on the smell yet, so things must be looking up.

I get to the little stairway up to the stage, and promptly trip. I right myself quickly as I hear roaring laughter and thundering applause from the gathering. Yeah. Things are looking up. Right, McGinnis, you just keep telling yourself that.

--There ya go!--

[Kylewayne]

Good story SK!

You got me hooked and trust me for me to be hooked on a story is VERY rare. Please ...PRETTY please continue to entertain us with your amazing talent. Can<t wait to find out what happens :)

[M'ral]

Krugie, I'm not going to say anything. You already know what I'm going to say. This story is so great and so funny and please write more. The usual stuff.;)

...

On second thought, I know you're too modest for your own good, so I'll elaborate. "Graduation" is shaping up to be one of the funniest and most enjoyable Batman Beyond stories I've ever read! No kidding! I read part 4 aloud to Isis tonight, and we were both falling out of our chairs! It was so funny, I could barely read it-I couldn't stop laughing long enough to get two sentences out!

You know, it's kind of scary too. You see, I'm graduating high school this year too. Hopefully my experience will be a little different from Terry's! (although, as a certain ill-fated graduate would say, it'd be just my luck;) )

On a more serious note, Krugie, I have to say that you couldn't have posted this at a better time. With everything that's been happening recently, I'll bet a lot of people around here could really use a laugh. I know I did. Thanks.

One more thing (I know you know, but I'll say it anyway!:D ), please hurry with your next installment. Like Bruce, Mary, and Matt, I'm anxiously waiting to see Terry (finally graduate.

M'ral
---Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas...:D

[Panther]

LOL! Oh wow! I'm gonna crack rib laughing!

1. I absolutly am over the moon with the wonderful way you have used the multiple POV's! It's awesome! Great job - you are a fantastic writer!

2. I am going to go mad and cheack myself into Arkahm if i don't find out Matt's plan. I know its gotta be nasty - which means its gonna be funny and awesome. Just what i'd wxpect from the twirp.

gotta go

[Batgirl_2005]

ack!! that's all!!! I'm hooked! this is absolutely hilarious!!! poor Terry! I want to know what Matt has planned. You have to write more! I love this!

[batE]

This was great! I knew I loved Matt for a reason :) You, um, ARE going to follow up, no?


batE

[Batgirl_2005]

No kidding! You HAVE to write more!!!!!

[Daughterof_Evil]

Geez, Terry! You would think with all that nighttime acrobatic stuff, he'd be a freakin' ballet dancer by now!

But, seriously, that was awesome. I am extremely interested in what Matt has up his tiny sleeve. You've got to keep us waiting, don't you!?

[SilverKnight]

:D Yes. Yes I do. Actually, I'm glad you all are hooked on this. I know I'm taking a long time to get these pieces up, even longer than usual. Sadly, that stems from a sudden loss of interest in things involving Batman. :eek: Don't worry, I'm trying to rectify that as quickly as I can, but I can't promise you anything. :(

On another note, M'ral, did you get that email I sent you? I colored your M'ral pic, and I think you'd like it. :) Anywho, I'm off to write more...hopefully. :cool:

[Rae]

ROTFL!!:D I have not read anything that hilarious in a long time! You are brilliant SilverKnight. I can't wait to see more!

[SilverKnight]

-->grins< I'm baaaaaack! :D--

People all around me break into hysterics, commenting that someone just tripped up the steps. I’d hate to be that kid.

The tub of lard next to me smacks my arm. “Did you see that?” He then remains silent for a moment, muttering, “Oh yeah, guess not.”

“Who tripped? I can’t see!” He calls over the giggling, to someone behind us.

“The McGinnis kid!” someone shouts in reply, between fits.

I close my eyes, shaking my head. McGinnis, you idiot. I’d be almost embarrassed that my protégé tripped up the steps, if it weren’t for the fact that nobody knows I train him. Well, that and the fact that it must be very embarrassing for him, which will hopefully teach him a lesson to not do something this stupid again.

The blaring music finally dies down, leaving it eerily quiet. Ace whimpers, using my legs as his pillow. Lucky mutt. At least he can *sleep* through it. Ah well, I’ve been through worse. Not *much*, but I’ve lived my life looking at the worst case scenarios. I guess this should be no different.

‘It’s a high school *graduation*, for God’s sake. This is hardly the same as running down leads to a murder.’

You’re just content to make my life hell, aren’t you?

‘I’m the one that kept you *alive* long enough to make it hell.’

Thanks. Really.

‘That’s what I’m here for.’

Yes, I noticed.

“Welcome to Hamilton Hill High School’s ‘Class of 2040’,” a man, I’m assuming the principal, speaks. Well, I guess I can’t do anything now except sit back and wait for it to end. I’ve sat through twelve hour stakeouts, I can do this. Right?

---

Oh, Terry just tripped. I shake my head, rubbing the bridge of my nose again. I guess it can’t get much worse than that. He’s two-for-two so far, let’s just hope he can walk across the stage without falling. There’s always hope for that.

The principal, short, thin little man that he is, steps up to the podium, straightening the mike. “Welcome to Hamilton Hill High School’s ‘Class of 2040’.” He pauses, nodding his head minutely. Two people then stand in front of the crowd, holding batons in their hand. “Now if you will please rise for the playing our national anthem.” They raise the metallic rods, holding it up for a moment, and in unison, drop them down. Simultaneously, the standing men, pull their caps off their heads as the band begins playing the Star Spangled—

My eyes lock upon Terry. A huge purple welt marks the side of his forehead.

I guess it can get worse after all.

---

“Welcome to Hamilton Hill High School’s ‘Class of 2040.”

Pfft. Yeah right. This is about as welcome as the flu.

“Now if you will please rise for the playing of our national anthem.”

I shrug to myself. Ah, why not? I stand, looking around, trying to find something worth gawking at. The woman’s muumuu just isn’t doing anything for me. I turn my gaze up to mom just in time to watch her eyes widen, gasping at something. I knit my brows. “What is it?” The horns blare the first notes, drowning out my question. My luck.

I stand on my tip toes, using Mom’s arm to balance me as I poke my head in front of her. Geez, that’s a big class. There must be fifteen rows of kids up there, all the guys with their hats off, including Terry.

…ow. I wonder where he got *that* from? Maybe he got on the wrong side of a crow-bar or something.

Several people to the side of him stare at him, eyes wide and jaws to the floor. The dork squirms for a moment, before jutting his jaw out like any ticked off two year old and looking straight ahead.

Y’know, I just may *not* pull my trick. I mean, Terry seems to be doing a pretty good job of embarrassing himself on his own. …on second thought, nah. It’ll be more fun, this way. After all, it can’t get much worse for him.

I grin. But I’ll try.

---

I pull my cap off, frowning as the band begins playing the Star Spangled Banner. Several heads turn my way, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I glance to my right, seeing Dana gaping at me, mouthing ‘what the hell is that?’

I fidget around for a moment, the intense glare of the stage lights causing me to sweat. The snickers and questions reach my ears, making me even more uncomfortable. Setting my jaw defiantly, I stare ahead into the darkness that is the rest of the auditorium, tapping my fingers against my legs nervously. Come on, come on…why do they have the play the national anthem so damn *slow*?

‘Well, things have to get worse before they get better.’

Thanks for the healthy friggin’ reminder. As if I couldn’t realize that beforehand.

‘Geez, I’m only trying to help.’

*Now*? Why the hell didn’t you do that twenty minutes ago?

For some reason, I get the impression that my conscience is shrugging at me. ‘You didn’t need it.’

I want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the statement, but then everyone around me would think I’ve gone mental. And dammit, I want to walk across the stage, not be carried off it.

Finally, the song ends, and the baton-people (if I had actually paid attention at the practices, I would’ve known their names) raise their metal staffs, bringing them down in unison. Gratefully, I place my cap over my head, seeing no point to cover the bruise on my forehead now. Moments later, the two men raise and drop the batons again. Everyone sits in their seat at the same time. If you only knew how many times our class had to practice that before we got it right. Sheesh. Some people have no sense of timing.

‘This coming from the person that fell into a dumpster.’

I ignore the comment, nestling into the hard aluminum chair. I dig in for the most boring three hours of my life; which on my part will consist of sitting and standing, and then sitting, and then more standing, and then sitting again, with some intermittent sitting and standing between each of them. Absolute chaos, I tell you.

I run my hand over my face wearily as the principal introduces the valedictorian. Max stands from her chair way ahead of me in the front row, sauntering over to the podium. As she begins her speech, which I really don’t listen to, I hear some shrimpy boy next to me sniff a couple times before turning to his friend, asking, “man, do you smell that?”

‘Told ya so.’

Do me a favor. Go to Hell.

‘Only when you do.’

I grin despite myself. Thanks for the reassuring words.

---

I recognize the girl’s voice instantly. Her normally husky voice takes on a monotone as she reads from her prepared speech, which does nothing for my mood.

Ace whimpers, rubbing his head against my leg. Hmph. I hope you’re comfortable.

I know I’m not.

At least with stakeouts, few, if any, people knew of my position, and the ones that did usually knew better than to try to strike up random conversations with me. The only one that didn’t give up at first was Dick. And even he eventually learned that he couldn’t speak with me during one.

‘And eventually, he stopped speaking to you period.’

I’m not very good at participating in social activities. I’m…uncomfortable around others.

‘And you sure got that point across, didn’t you?’

I can’t help being what I am.

‘Which is what? A jackass?’

I am most certainly not a—

‘A jackass, right. Well, then, do me a favor. Explain to me why every single relationship you had with another human being wound up with them leaving in disgust?’

I falter in an answer. Damn my miserable conscience.

‘Even Alfred left after a while.’

Yes, I’m quite aware of that. Believe it or not, I’m very much aware of my flaws and shortcomings, and thanks to *you*, I’m never going to forget my mistakes.

‘You’d just do the same thing if I weren’t here,’ the voice chirps. ‘You’re methodical, and extremely predictable. You can never see anything for what it is. You have to categorize everything; rationalize and justify what you do to yourself and others. You only see in black and white, night or day, good or bad.’

What’s so wrong with seeing life like that?

‘Everything.’

I blink. Could you elaborate?

‘No.’

Why not?

‘You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out…or maybe you won’t. It depends entirely upon you. A conscience can only do so much work. And, as you know, I have my hands full.’

I scowl. You don’t even *have* hands.

‘Hmph. Touchy.’

Three hours of this. How utterly wonderful. That boy better damn well be enjoying himself, because when we get out of here, I’m going to make him wish he never invited me.

‘And how *exactly* did he earn your wrath?’

He didn’t.

‘Then why are you being so vindictive?’

Because I can be. I’m mean; so sue me.

‘How can I sue you? I don’t have any hands, remember?’

I roll my eyes. Smart ass.

---

Max’s words roll over me like an ocean wave.

Translation: I’m not listening to a word she’s saying.

I stifle a yawn, clenching my jaw and closing my eyes for a moment. I let out a deep breath, adjusting my legs and skinny white rump to stave off the eventual tingling that comes with limbs falling asleep. Well, if I can’t fall asleep, neither can they.

I stare at the little leaflet in my hand, wishing that I still had my pen. At least then I could doodle, or otherwise occupy my fingers. When you work as a secretary long enough, you get used to moving your fingers rapidly for long periods of time. Now, all I can do is drum my fingers against my thigh and the side of the cold metal chair.

It’s odd, listening to Max as she drones on about mountain trails, comparing them to adult life. Her voice is usually so…alive. It’s a type of voice you’d expect one of those sex symbol actresses to have; very throaty. I mean, there are times, for instance, when she’s being stubborn and yelling at Terry for god knows what, when it can take a very shrill tone that makes my skin crawl. But, anything would be better than hearing her lifelessly repeating the words on her paper to all of us.

This time, I can’t stop the yawn from coming. I can only clap my hand over my mouth, waiting for the sensation to end. After about three or four seconds—or were they minutes?—I close my mouth, blinking my watering eyes. Dammit, and I just redid this mascara…oh, the hell with it. It’s not like anyone is going to see it. I guess darkness has its advantages.

‘Then again, so does caffeine.’

Do you have to remind me?

‘Yes. I’ve heard in situations of torture, reminding yourself of what you enjoyed and loved will keep you from breaking under the pressure.’

This isn’t torture. I blink. I didn’t just say that.

‘Oh, you most certainly did.’

Yes, I’m aware of that.

‘Then why’d you say you didn’t just say that?’

Do you *have* to be difficult with me?

‘I’m your conscience. That’s my job.’

Well, you’re fired.

I get the mental image that it’s smiling at me. ‘You can’t.’

I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but why not?

‘Tenure.’

I should’ve figured.

‘Well, no one’s perfect.’

And you’re saying that like you’re somehow different. We’re the same person, unless I’ve suddenly developed Multiple Personality Disorder, that is.

‘You never know.’

Well neither will you, so it won’t really matter, will it?

‘How will *I* not know? I’m your conscience. I know you better—‘

Than I know myself, yeah, I’ve heard that statement before. Well for your information, you’re wrong. I’ve always known that you’ve been around, whether I was aware of it or not. How long did it take you to realize that you’re only one part of me?

‘I made up for that lapse in time.’

What? When I’m asleep and you’re not active?

‘I’m always active,’ the voice chirps sharply.

Really? Then why do I rarely hear you knocking at my door?

‘What door?’

You know, for my conscience, you’re awfully stupid.

‘I guess you’ve rubbed off then.’

You realize you’re insulting yourself, right?

‘You realize you’re contradicting yourself, right?’

I hate it when you answer a question with a question.

‘I know, that’s why I did it.’

Triumphant little wench, aren’t we?

I have the feeling that if my conscience could bow, it would’ve. ‘Why thank you. You are far too kind.’

Just wait. I’ll get a lot kinder soon enough.

‘Is that a threat?’

No, that’s a promise.

‘Wow, you *are* touchy.’

So much for knowing me better than I know myself.

‘Cute.’

Hmph. Touchy.

‘Oh, be quiet.’

---

I yawn. This bites.

‘Don’t fall asleep, you might wake up to find the ceremony over.’

I doubt *that’ll* ever happen.

‘Why? You don’t think you’ll fall asleep?’

No. I don’t think this stupid ceremony will ever end.

‘Oh, now that’s just a bad joke and you know it.’

Heh, you left yourself open for it, so don’t blame me.

‘I have to; I *am* you.’

Details, details.

---

Max *finally* steps down, sauntering back to her seat. She takes one glance at her forehead, winces ever-so-slightly, and shakes her head in the same way mom did to me a few minutes—or was it hours?—ago. I hear a few sporadic bouts of clapping in the crowd, and in the graduating class. I happen to be one of them, and I’m shot all kinds of weird and hateful looks from various graduates, including Nelson. He puts on his best ‘I’m-going-to-kill-you’ look, which really isn’t much if you ask me, before turning back around, chatting with one of his punk lackeys.

Time seems to move in severe slow motion as the next guy, the key-something-or-other speaker, hobbles to the mike. It’s some sort of special spot for a different dreg each year to talk to us “youngsters”, who basically tells us not to make stupid mistakes. Yeah, like some geezer’s opinion on life is gonna stop us from making them. Right. If *that* were true, the old fart wouldn’t have to be telling *us* not to make the same mistakes *he* did.

‘That’s a paradox, I believe,’ that stupid voice informs me.

What the hell is a paradox? Isn’t that where something repeats itself? Like a loop?

‘Ah, I see you actually stayed awake for History class that day.’

Uh…yeah. And you wouldn’t know that because…?

‘It was a smart comment.’

Smart compared to what?

‘You’re not funny.’

Weird, the counselor always said I was odd.

‘I didn’t mean that—‘

Oh, thank you for the apology. You have no idea how much that means to me.

‘That wasn’t an—‘

Oh, now, now, you’ve said more than enough.

I have the sudden feeling that my conscience is glaring at me, well, that is, it *would* be if my conscience had eyes. ‘You can’t one-up me, you know. I’m your conscience. I know you better than you know yourself.’

We’re the same person, dreg.

‘Stop splitting hairs.’

You grow hair?

‘No, I…oh, shut up.’

--There ya go!--

[M'ral]

ROTFLOL!!! Krugie, this keeps getting better and better! The War of the Consciences is so funny, it took me almost half an hour to read it (I had to keep stopping or risk busting a gut!)! And then there was Bruce's battle with his conscience, which alternated between funny and sad. All in all, "Graduation" remains the best BB fanfic I have ever read! Thank you so much for sharing it!

BTW, as you can see from my new avatar, I got the colored M'ral pic, and she looks great! I can't thank you enough! The only thing that puzzled me was the blue in her hair. I thought it kind of drew attention away from the rest of the picture, so I touched it up in Photoshop. I hope you don't mind. P.S: the reason I didn't email you and let you know before was I just crashed my computer and had to rebuild it. Sorry for the delay.

One more thing...Thank God you're back!!!

M'ral
---
'You know, you really could have elaborated a little more.'

It's after midnight now!

'Like that means anything to you, Ms. Chronic Insomniac.'

Shut up.

'Hmph. Touchy.'

;)

[Batgirl_2005]

*died a long time ago from laughing so hard*

*is brought back*

THIS IS THE BEST FANFIC I HAVE EVER EVER EVER READ!!!!!! I died laughing!

As M'ral said, the battle of the consciences is TOO good!!! I love it!!!!
I scowl. You don’t even *have* hands.

‘Hmph. Touchy.’

Three hours of this. How utterly wonderful. That boy better damn well be enjoying himself, because when we get out of here, I’m going to make him wish he never invited me.

‘And how *exactly* did he earn your wrath?’

He didn’t.

‘Then why are you being so vindictive?’

Because I can be. I’m mean; so sue me.

‘How can I sue you? I don’t have any hands, remember?’


lmao!!!! ok.... I have to stop this now or I'm going to die all over again!

[Panther]

You're back!!!! Yeah!!! Happy dance time!!! >Ach< Tripped!

Ahem. >sits back down< GREAT POST! Interesting that everyone's conscence is giving them a hard time. _Excellent_ use of dilogue without actally having anyone talk. Totally schway. Oh, and I think you managed to sum up every graduation that has been and ever will be with the description "sitting and standing, and then sitting, and then more standing, and then sitting again, with some intermittent sitting and standing between each of them". Reminds me of my graduation. :D

AND I STILL WANT TO KNOW WHAT MATT'S PRANK IS GOING TO BE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[SilverKnight]

--Yup, I'm BAAAAA-AAACK! :D Yeah, it's been a while, and unfortuantely, this probably isn't my best, but I couldn't just let it slide into oblivion. Plus, you get to find out what Matt's prank is. I hope I don't dissapoint anyone. :) Well, anyway...--

What an odd experience this is…it’d almost be serene if it weren’t so damned annoying. The Key-note speaker has since come and gone, his speech on advantages of being young only mildly aggravating me. What is *honestly* making me grate me teeth in barely restrained fury is the fact that the useless tub of lard next to me, known to the rest of the world as “Buck”, is snoring loudly in my ear. In fact, his snoring is so thunderous, that people from several rows ahead and behind have complained about quote, unquote “shutting that fat bastard up”. And, oh, how I’m tempted to…but, that would bring unwarranted attention to me that I don’t want, good, bad or otherwise. Lying about a disability to get into someone’s high-school graduation isn’t exactly what I want to be remembered for.

Another roar is heard directly to my left, and I suppress the sudden need to break something. A young man from behind me taps me on my shoulder. “Hey,” he husks, “could you please shut your son up?”

This day just keeps getting better and better. I turn in his direction, frowning deeply. “He is *not* my son,” I growl, trying to sound flippant, but only coming off as intensely annoyed. Oh well, either one will work.

The man instantly falls silent, most likely leaning back in his seat, keeping his gaze pointedly away from mine. Such a move would hardly matter; I can’t very well return it. The only thing I can see now is a sheet of white, although I’ve already begun to notice that the light is subsiding. It may be only a matter of a few hours before my sight returns well enough to fake my way through any confrontation with the boy or his family. Or anyone, for that matter.

Buck snorts, shifting in his seat lethargically. I don’t waste my time trying to stave the sigh, seeing as how I’d just do it seconds later anyway. After all, moving in his seat isn’t anything that should pique my temper. What *does* manage to pique my temper is feeling a large mass rest on my shoulder, the snoring shuddering my muscles.

Okay, calm thoughts. Calm, rational thoughts. Don’t think of harming him, Wayne, you’ve dealt with worse. So what if he’s using your shoulder as a pillow? It’s nothing worth going to jail over. I sneer and turn my head in his direction, bringing my hand up to a point just below my shoulder, about to curtly shove him away when my finger brushes against something…slimy…

Spit.

He’s *drooling* on me.

That’s it. I have to get out of here. *NOW*.

I jerk forward, standing in one swift move. Remarkably, both Ace and Buck stir awake at the same moment, both sounding agitated. “Hey,” Buck drawls, “what’s your problem?”

My eye twitches. “I have to go.”

“Yeah?” he spits, sounding repugnant. “Well I ain’t movin’.”

Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him... “Move or feel pain,” I snarl. I hear him gulp, and immediately afterwards I feel his legs moving out of my way. I turn back towards my seat. “Ace,” I bark. I hear no scampering, no telltale clicking of claws on cement.

“*Ace*,” I hiss, glaring down at where I hope he’s sitting. There’s no sound of movement, although others behind me are asking me in rather impolite terms for me to move out of their way. Shaking my head in disgust, I turn away. “Ace, you *traitor*…” I snap, more or less shoving my way through the aisle, although I’m not entirely sure where I’m going. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want out.

---

I’m going to go insane. I look at the program for the six-hundredth time, this time, counting all the ‘o’s. So far, I’ve managed to find 356 a’s, 587 e’s, 285 u’s, and 132 i’s. Well, that still leaves…um, 22 letters left, I think. And only two hours left in the ceremony. Hooray for me.

Matt’s sitting there like a lump next to me, staring off into space. Lucky him. When he’s my age, he probably won’t *remember* this, whereas *I* will have to tell Terry how proud and excited I was to watch him graduate. And I *am* proud of him, I really am. But *why* do they have to make the ceremony so long? To give us plenty of photo ops of our children sleeping in their chairs?

I think it’s a conspiracy. Some sort of diabolical brainwashing plan implemented by Spellbinder, or any one of those psychos. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were. In fact, I’d be glad. At least then my suffering could be blamed on an irate lunatic with really bad fashion sense. Ah well, such is life, I suppose.

It could be a lot worse for me, after all. I stare at the small dot on the stage that represents Terry’s face, imagining how hard it was to hear of his father’s death. He was only (I mentally scoff at the word) my ex-husband. Warren was Terry’s *father*. I could always manage to get myself another ex-husband, God forbid. You only have one father. I sigh, looking at my son’s pale face. My poor son.

‘Now’s not the time for self pity.’

Finally, a constructive comment from you.

‘You consider *that* constructive?’

I’d ask what you consider constructive, but really, I don’t care, so I’m not even going to *attempt*.

‘I thought you just did.’

Shut up. And, besides, I wasn’t pitying myself. I was pitying my son.

‘There’s a difference?’

I begin to make the obvious reply, which is “yes”, but then I stop. *Is* there a difference? When Terry was in pain, I was in pain. When I learned of Warren’s death, I felt just as hurt as Terry did. When I looked at his wide, shocked blue eyes, it was like someone just sucker punched me. And the worst part was the helplessness. To not even be able to help your own son when he’s in pain…

‘Alright, *now* your thoughts are turning to self pity.’

Why shouldn’t I be pitying myself? I mean, look at them. My two sons don’t have a father.

‘You had nothing to do with Warren’s death, and you know it,’ the voice tells me flatly. ‘So don’t worry over it.’

Don’t worry? Don’t worry?? How can I not worry? They’re my children, I have every right to worry.

‘You’re right, you do. But not now. You’re at a joyous event.’

I glance over the person’s shoulder in front of me, watching what they’re doing. The young man—not much older than the graduates themselves—is rolling a post-it into a tube, sticking it onto another yellow post-it tube, extending over two other people’s laps. The three of them are giggling quietly, ripping the sticky squares off the back of the light gray chairs that they’ve been temporarily attached to.

You call *this* joyous?

‘Joyous is a very diverse word,’ it retorts.

Raising my eyebrow slightly, I turn my gaze to a small crowd to the immediate left of the post-it trio, zeroing in on their activity. A dozen or so people, ranging from six or seven to mid-thirties in age, are all participating in what looks like a Rock-Paper-Scissors tournament. Most of them seem oblivious to the fact that they’re supposed to be watching their family or friend graduate, intent on winning. I can’t blame them, I don’t really want to be watching either.

I hear a small snort to the right of me, and I gape down to see Matty asleep in his chair, his head snuggled up against my arm like he used to do when he was a baby. I start to feel nostalgic, and I grin for the first time in what feels like ages.

‘See? Joyous.’

Nostalgic.

‘Happy.’

Reminiscent.

‘Annoying.’

You.

‘St—hey!’

The small smile widens. You’re right, I tell that sniveling little snot that passes for a conscience, this *is* a joyous event.

---

Martian Manhunter gives me a big orange power ring. “Cool!” I exclaim, looking at the purple martian, who now has black pointy ears like Batman. “Thanks, Terry!”

I blink. Terry?

What in the he—

I snap my eyes open. Aw, crap, I gotta go to the bathroom. Plus, that would give me a good reason to pull my little gag. And what better place to plant a stink-bomb than in a men’s bathroom? I rub my eyes with my hand, smacking my lips together for a second or two to wet my lips. I gawk up at mom, and she has this little weird grin on her face that I haven’t really seen before. It kinda creeps me out, actually. I’m not used to seeing her…well…happy.

‘That’s because you normally make her mad.’

Liar, I do *not*. At least, not *always*. And that’s beside the point anyway.

‘Um…*what’s* beside the point?’

…I’m not really sure. Well, anyway, I need to go, and bad. Plus, the look mom has is really weird and un-schway. So, I poke her in the arm, snapping her out of it, just as I thought she would. She looks down at me and says, “Yes, Matty?”

I flinch. I hate that nickname. Then again, I hate the nickname “Twip” too, but…

‘Don’t tell me, that’s beside the point?’

Yeah. Shut up. I squirm in my seat, making a really good display of my…uh…discomfort. Yeah, that’s the word. “I need to go,” I squeak.

The smile goes away. Her shoulders slump a little as she sighs, her lips curling down into her famous mom-frown. “Can’t you wait?”

Wait. Ack. “No.”

She closes her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Okay,” she answers tiredly, “but be quick.”

I don’t even bother answering. I jump off my seat, more or less ramming my way through the various legs and other things that litter the ground in front of me. Ugh, it sucks being short. As soon as I make my way out into the hall, I make a break for the door, not caring who or what is looking at me like I’m some little demon. They all reek anyway, so they can’t talk about my bad points.

I dart down the main hall, everything passing in a blur. Whether it’s because I’m running really fast or I’m paying attention to my bladder, though, I don’t know. I don’t care. Actually, no, I *do* care. If it’s the first, that means I’m gonna get there sooner. If it’s the second…well, that’s cool too.

I push the swinging door open, run for the stall, and…uh…do you mind?

…

There, that’s better. Well, anyway…

I walk over to the sink, standing on my tip toes to reach the faucet. Stupid adult sinks…dorks… C’mon, c’mon…! Ah-ha! Got it! I wash and rinse my hands off, having a bit of a hard time keeping my balance, considering I’m standing on a part of my foot I’m not supposed to be standing on.

Hopping, I grab the paper dispenser thingy, and wipe my hands off for a few seconds, wadding the soaking brown paper up and dumping it in the trash. My hands still aren’t entirely dry, so I wipe them on the sides of my pants. What? They’re clean. Again standing on the toes of my shoes, I barely manage to get my fingers to touch the handle when someone comes busting in through the men’s room door. Startled, I jump back, losing my balance and landing on the grimy floor right on my butt. Well, so much for my pants being *clean* now.

I crinkle my nose and get to my knees, checking to see if the stuff for the bomb is still…uh…not broken…ah, what’s the word…intact! Yeah, intact. I start to look in the lapel when I hear someone ask, “Who’s here? Are you alright?”

The voice sounds *really* familiar. I stand up and start off towards the door, which is hidden behind the stalls. I make my way over there, and look up to the guy—

My jaw drops. “Mr. *Wayne*?”

---

I hate life, life hates me, dys-func-tion-al fam-i-ly…

Whoa. I have issues.

‘Yeah, but that’s not the reason now. You’re just bored. And smelly. Well, and injured too.’

*And* completely humiliated. Don’t forget that.

‘Naturally.’

I roll my eyes. Stupid damn conscience. The principal stands, saying something that I don’t catch, because I’m frankly too tired to care. But I know it’s something worth listening to when the baton-people stand, holding up the metallic top-heavy rods. They bring them down, and on cue, the first row stands.

Oh, we’re at the diploma part now! Schway! This is the whole reason I went through all this crap. My diploma. The nice little piece of paper I need to get ahead in life. Well, in *normal* life, that is. I don’t think I can really put “crime-fighter” down in my resume without getting thrown into the paddy-wagon.

And the worst part is I’d be telling the truth.

‘For once.’

Keep talking, dreg.

‘Okay.’

That was *sarcasm*, Sherlock.

‘No, really?’

Oh, shut up.

‘But, you just told me to keep talking.’

You’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?

‘It’s not in my job description to be sharp.’

Ya think?

‘Nope. Not in my job description either,’ it retorts.

Very cute, smart ass. You just keep talking.

‘I thought we already went through this.’

We *did*.

‘You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?’

At least we have something in *common* then, I snap back, instantly realizing that I’ve just insulted myself.

‘I’ll take that as a “no”.’

Ha ha. …Bastard.

--There ya go!--

[Panther]

Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! :D

Happy dance time!!!!! Opps! Tripped over the cat!

NEway - more of Graduation! It's about time! :p That was great! I loved Mary and Matt's POV's although I thought Matt's prank would target big brother specificly. Oh well. But you WILL post more? Right? Pretty plesae with lots and lots of cherrys on top? And what do you mean by 'that ending will probably chnage' ? that's not the end, is it?

later,

[SilverKnight]

Well, Matt's prank DOES specifically target Terry. It just hits everyone else while he's at it. :D

And no that's not the ending. It's just that I think that ending for Terry's part sucks. It's lacking something, and I didn't really want to wait to contemplate before posting. >shrugs< Don't worry, though, I am attempting to write more. I know, I know, I've said that alot before, and I've only given jack **** because of it, but I'm very close to the ending, so if I can finish this, I have more time for other fics. (Finally.) Well, anywho...

[Kylewayne]

ROTFLOL! More More!

It just keeps on getting better and better.

I love the conscience dialogues they are funny as hell. Keep it up.

There will be more right? Or I'll start with the death threats :D j/k

Poor Terry...hehehe :D

[M'ral]

Hooray! Another incredibly brilliant laugh-fest from the keyboard of our resident Shiny Menace! That was great, Krugie! I don't know who I pity the most, your long-suffering characters who must survive another two hours of intense boredom and/or embarrassment, or your loyal readers (myself included) who must survive until the end of this story without busting a gut! :D But we're tough, we can take it, so keep it coming! (Pretty pretty please!)

M'ral
---leaves to get her busted gut fixed

P.S: Isis sends her love. She would have told you herself, but she hurt herself rolling on the floor laughing. This story is dangerous! ;)

[hellraiser765]

LOL, Humorous indeed! Although, I'm beginning to wonder if my graduation is evergoing to turn out like THAT

[SilverKnight]

Small update. I changed a bit of Terry's post, because the previous one sucked. Yes, I know it took...a really long time just to get that much, but hey, it's progress, right? :D

[The Guitar Slayer]

Tickets, I got tickets (demonic cackle :D)...

Please don't mess with our minds. Post!

[SilverKnight]

--I know, I know! I needed to work up to the end, and plus, I had pressing matters to attend to. (I was living with my sister for about three months. :)) But, I'm back, and with the finale you've all been waiting for! Mind you, this is in rough draft form, so it may be a bit fringed around the edges. And, I wasn't really going for the whole sappy thing, but the humor seemed to cheapen it for me. >shrugs< Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I hope you've enjoyed yourself! Thank you all for the great feedback! You've given me a lot of support, and I'll never forget that. Anywho, on with the show. >grins<--

“Mr. *Wayne*?”

I freeze.

Think. *Think*, you idiot! “I’m sorry, is anyone in here?”

I have to restrain from frowning at myself in disgust. ‘Nice recovery, Wayne. Classic.’

Unfortunately, I have to agree.

‘Pitiful.’

I know.

“Mr. Wayne?” the young boy repeats. “Is that you?”

“Excuse me, young man,” I say, “are you speaking to me?”

“Well, yeah,” the boy answers, as if it’s obvious.

‘Sounds almost exactly like Terry,’ my damnable conscience chirps. However, it’s right. This child *does* sound like McGinnis. ‘Twice in a row,’ it quips. ‘I’m on a roll.’

Oh, be quiet, you—wait. That voice…

Oh no.

“May I ask who *you* are?” I ask off-handedly.

“I’m Matt,” he replies. “Y’know, Matt McGinnis, Terry’s little brother?”

Oh *no*.

---

I snap awake, hearing random names being called.

The diplomas.

Thank the good freaking Lord. It’s about damn time.

‘Tsk, tsk, such language.’

Uh…no offense to whatever Lord may be up there, or anything.

‘Yeah, Mary, good one. The All Mighty is *not* the guy you want to enrage right now. *Especially* when you’re stuck in this virtual hell.’

I stare up to the ceiling. Speaking of which, Lord, can you please shut her up?

‘Hey! You can’t ask God to shut me up!’

Miracles can happen.

‘You can’t ask the big guy for help. You’re not even religious.’

And this is the official opinion from my conscience?

‘Yes.’

I smirk, still gazing upwards. See? Now you have a reason. Fry her. Please?

‘Backstabbing little bi—’

Tsk, tsk, such language.

---

It’s Wayne. It *has* to be.

Right?

“Um, Mr. Wayne…” I begin quietly. Sheesh, this guy gives me the creeps.

“I’m not Bruce Wayne,” the dude sighs, scowling.

‘Wait,’ my stupid voice thingy tells me. ‘How’d he know you were talking about *Bruce* Wayne?’

I blink, surprised that it actually gave me good advice. For once, anyway.

“Ha! I *knew* it!” I shout happily.

The scowl gets creepier by the second. Yup. That’s him. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“How’d you know I was talking about *Bruce* Wayne?” I say, grinning.

He pauses. Gotcha.

I hear soft applause from the vent system, and I glance over my shoulder to it. Crap, I can’t do it *now*, or else he’ll see me, and I’ll be dead for *sure*. “Look, Mr. Wayne, or *whoever* you are,” I lie, inching away, “I have something I need to do, and um…well, I don’t want you to see.”

‘What a way to lie, twip.’

The guy’s evil look lightens just a tiny bit. Enough for me to not feel the need to go to the bathroom again. “I wouldn’t be able to do it even if I *wanted* to,” he tells me. “I’m blind.”

---

Row three sits, and on cue row four stands, their grins a mile wide.

Just three more rows.

Three more rows until I get my diploma.

Three more rows until I can go home and take a very long, hot shower. It’d feel so *good* to be clean again. Then, I can crawl into a soft, warm bed, and sleep for a month.

‘And then wake up five minutes after you fall asleep because the old man needs you to fight crime.’

Dammit, you *had* to say that, didn’t you?

‘I’m your conscience. I have to be as honest as possible.’

I suppress a moan of aggravation. But, that ever-annoying little voice is right. I can’t blame it for doing its job, no matter *how* much it pisses me off.

‘Ha. Score one for the ever-annoyance voice.’

You keep *score*?

‘What *else* do I have to do around here?’

Okay…only three more rows. I can do this.

---

What a disaster this day has turned out to be. I’m blinded, I’m drooled on, my “man’s best friend” has ditched me for a comfortable napping seat, and to top it all off, I find the boy’s bratty little brother in the men’s bathroom doing something that’s obviously not legal.

It’s days like these that make crime-fighting look downright orderly.

I need to think of a plan, and fast. If this boy happens to blabber to his mother or McGinnis that he thought he saw me, then no doubt it’ll be brought up at some point. That I want to avoid at all costs.

So, now that I know what *not* to do, what’s left?

‘Honesty *is* the best policy.’

I suppress a snort of bitter amusement. You have *got* to be kidding me.

‘I’ve got my work cut out for me as it is, so you’re going to have to start pulling your own weight,’ my conscience hisses at me. ‘I’m sick of having the backwash of your lies. As of now, all you’ve done is lie, and where has it gotten you? Blinded in the men’s bathroom at your protégé’s graduation, with his younger brother doing something that has nothing to do with his bladder. In short, you’ve only dug yourself deeper into this bottomless pit of a hole, with no end in sight.’

I snarl. That’s not funny.

‘No pun intended,’ it backpedals quietly.

Your point?

‘My *point*?’ it snaps. ‘Suck it up! Take responsibility for your actions!’

You don’t have to be snippy about it.

‘Stop whining, and be a man.’

I hate my conscience. I hate it with a passion.

‘You damn well *should*,’ it says. ‘And if you ever want me to shut up again, you’d better do as I tell you.’

My frown disappears, and strangely enough, my conscience’s words actually lighten my mood slightly. It’s starting to actually sound like a *conscience*, and not my inner brat.

‘I am *not* a—‘

Are you going to continue chattering, or are you going to let me do the right thing? I’m greeted with silence.

Ah, blessed silence. How I’ve missed you.

‘Are you going to keep talking like a crazy man, or are you going to do the right thing?’

Good things never *do* last, do they?

---

Terry’s row is up. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with this giddy sort of joy I’ve only felt a handful of times in my life, including when they re-released that movie that showed that old movie star Tom Cruise’s bare butt. And a mighty fine looking one at that. For a guy so old, he sure was pretty handsome in his prime…

‘You’re rambling, Mary.’

What? He had a nice butt.

‘Son’s graduation. Remember? Three hours of hell?’

No thanks to you.

‘I kept you awake and occupied, didn’t I?’

Yeah. Thanks a bunch.

‘No problem.’

I roll my eyes. I glance around, checking if Matt has come out or not. Hm, I guess he *did* have to go, after all.

Terry’s inching ever closer to the edge of the stage, and I suddenly remember my cheap one-shot camera. I doubt I’ll get anything, but it’s better than nothing. I hear my own voice play back in my head. ‘…plenty of photo ops of our children sleeping in their chairs?’

He’s not sleeping, so it doesn’t count, I retort, lurching forward to grab my purse, only to accidentally kick it away with my treacherous leg. “Dammit,” I mutter, forcing myself to kneel on the gritty cement floor, feeling blindly in the dark for it.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need any help?”

I turn my gaze upward to see a rather large man kneeling over top me. The first thing I notice is his bald head, but it doesn’t detract from him; in fact, the guy is drop dead gorgeous. I notice that he’s wearing a loose cotton shirt, which only bring out his finely sculpted shoulders and…oh, my, he is a fine one, indeed.

‘Oh, please, Mary, he’s not a piece of fruit.’

No, he’s *alot* better than fruit…

The man above smiles sheepishly, clearing his throat.

I snap out of my stupor, clearing my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more embarrassed in my life. That is, discounting the time Terry decided that he wanted to imitate the aunt Jemima bottle in the grocery store by covering himself in syrup and standing on the shelf when he was four. I shake my head free of the memory, and mutter a weak, “Um, yes, sir, thank you.”

He smiles, and swiftly picks up my purse, handing it to me in his left hand. Oh, no wedding ring, I see…

I hear the distinct noise of my conscience coughing, muttering, ‘Desperate,’ while doing so. I ignore it, and swipe the bag from him, hastily making my way back to my seat. “Thank you,” I say lamely, shrugging helplessly. “I really appreciate it…uh...”

“John,” he says cheerfully, holding out his hand expectantly. “John Annetta.”

---

I fiddle with the edges of my jacket, swallowing nervously. Man, this dude is a few calcium pills short of a bottle. I mean, he’s not moving, he’s not saying anything, he’s just standing there like some weirdo dreg who took one too many shots to the head.

In one word, un-schway.

“Alright,” he says suddenly, and out of instinct, I jump backwards, nearly landing on the nasty floor for the second time in five minutes. Mom’s gonna kill me when she sees my suit covered in this gunk.

‘She’s gonna kill you when she finds out you set off that stink-bomb.’

Oh yeah, I forgot about that. This guy has that sort of effect.

“Tell no one this,” the old guy starts, “but I’m Bruce Wayne.”

“Well, duh,” I answer, before I have a chance to stop myself. The evil scowl returns, and I take another step back.

I wince. Strike one.

“Um…why shouldn’t I tell anyone?” I ask like a moron, mentally kicking myself for it.

“Because I’m trusting you not to,” he replies.

“Oh.” Mr. Wayne *trusts* me? Didn’t he see—

I look at his glasses, and my stupid mouth has to flap off, “Mr. Wayne, why are you blind?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “However, it’s temporary, and I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Then why’d you come if you didn’t want anybody to know?” Crap. Strike two.

“Because it didn’t happen until I got here,” he retorts, his whole attitude screaming ‘stop with the questions or die’. So, yeah, do I listen to that?

*NOO*.

“Why’d you wanna go in the *first* place?”

He freezes. Strike three. I’m so slagged. Oh, man, he’s doing that grinding jaw thing of his…

Yeah, he’s gonna kill me.

Or worse yet, give me a swirly, or whatever he does that keeps Terry in line.

“Because I wanted to see your brother graduate,” he finally says, his voice strangely quiet. Actually, his quiet voice is even creepier than his ‘you’re going to die now’ voice, which is pretty creepy in and of itse—

He *what*?

---

This is *so* cool! I’m finally graduating! It’s finally here! No more school bells, no more books—

‘No more teacher’s dirty looks.’

Stop ruining my moment.

‘I’m not, I just thought it was funny.’

What are you, twelve?

‘In maturity level, yes. Physically, no.’

Physically, you don’t exist.

‘Nobody likes a science geek.’

Wow, you’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, aren’t you?

‘It’s been a trying day.’

I nod to myself sagely. I can’t argue with that. Although “trying” wouldn’t exactly be the word I’d use for it.

“Jonathan O’Neill,” the principal calls, a healthy round of applause being drawn from the crowd. I never heard of the guy, but hey, I’m happy for him. He all but floats over the stage, a sappy grin slapped on his face. As he shakes his hand, stepping off to the right into the darkness of the auditorium, I suddenly realize that I have a clear line of sight from my position to the principal.

Whoa, I’m next.

---

Honesty is overrated.

Then again, so is sunlight.

“You what?” he sputters, shocked.

Placing up a mask of non-chalance, I reply, “I wanted to see your brother graduate. Is that such a hard concept?”

“Well…yeah, actually,” he shoots back.

I blink behind my glasses. I thought I’d fooled everyone into believing that Bruce Wayne was friendly.

‘Do you know how weird it sounds to refer to yourself in third person?’

That person isn’t me, and you know it.

‘You’re right. And, apparently, so does Matt.’

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I snap, somewhat annoyed at myself. When did I let my guard down?

‘When you walked in here blind.’

I didn’t ask you.

‘Since when did you have to *ask* me to get my opinion?’

Will you shut up for just a minute?

I hear the boy snort, and the telltale rustling of thick wool leads me to believe that he’s shifting from one foot to another, shrugging. “Well, for starters, you call him at all hours, demanding him to do *whatever* it is that you make him do, and never so much as throw an apology his or our way,” he huffs bitterly.

I hide my shock. He’s much more observant than I would have thought.

‘He’s not observant,’ my conscience corrects me. ‘He’s just telling you the everyday happenings of his life.’

What does “shut up” mean to you?

“Terry has a life, too, ya know. This is the first time I’ve seen him in over a week, and we live in the same apartment,” he continues. “I mean, is his work *that* important?”

“Yes,” I reply immediately.

“Why?” he snaps angrily.

I almost want to tell him what he does, so he can fully understand why I push Terry so hard. Then again, if I were to tell him, he’d probably be angry with me for putting his brother’s life in danger.

‘Since when did other people’s opinions matter to you?’

Since an eight year old yells at me for keeping his brother away from him, I retort, non-plussed. And, for the record, I am getting sick and tired of hearing how you make such a big *sacrifice* on my behalf. The only thing you have done is rub my mistakes in my face, and have done almost *nothing* constructive. So, unless you have something *useful* to say, do me a favor and shut the hell up.

Quickly, I concoct a semi-lie. “You see,” I begin, “Wayne-Powers is a very large company, and we do a great deal of philanthropic work.”

“Phili-what?” he squawks.

“Charity work,” I answer.

“Oh.”

“In my…old age,” I grind out, “I can’t function as well as I have, and my work has suffered. But, because of Terry’s willingness to assist me whenever it’s necessary, he’s made a huge difference in many people’s lives. You could say that he’s saved them.” I suck in a breath, biting the bullet. “I owe your brother a great deal, Matt. I know I rarely, if ever, express it…but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

I suppress the urge to cringe. I hate being completely honest; it leaves me vulnerable in ways I don’t particularly like. I sound like such a baby. That doesn’t mean I don’t care, what’s wrong with me?

‘Well, what do you know, you *can* be human.’

Is that your idea of being constructive? Because you’re horrible at it.

‘It was a compliment.’

…Well, it’s a start, I suppose.

The boy still remains silent. He’s probably contemplating my sincerity. The one time I truly *am* being sincere, and I won’t be believed. And the Wayne luck strikes again.

“Oh,” he finally squeaks out. “I didn’t know that…”

“It’s alright,” I speak. “You have a right to be angry with me. But,” I shrug, “now that Terry’s graduating, he’ll have more time to spend with you and your mother.”

“…Heh, I didn’t think of it that way,” he mutters. “I guess this *was* worth it, after all.”

I hear the muffled words of one “Jonathan O’Neill” being called up, and I realize that I haven’t heard Terry’s name yet. Chances are, though, he’ll be up soon. Thank God.

“Hm, I guess so,” I reply. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Your brother is almost up.”

“Great,” Matter mutters sarcastically, shuffling forward. “Do you need any help back?”

I swallow my pride, holding the crook of my arm out for him to take. “Actually, yes, I do.” I frown when thinking of Ace. That lazy traitor.

“Where’s that mutt of yours?” Matt questions, leading me out of the bathroom.

I raise an eyebrow in curiosity. “’Mutt’? Do you mean Ace?”

“Ace?” he echoes sourly. “What a lame name.” He pauses, and then stammers, “Uh, I mean, um, uh…where are you sitting?”

“In the third to last row, I believe,” I state, backtracking in my mind where I was when I left that drooling moron, Buck. I ignore the bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

“Wait,” he murmurs, leading me through the long, winding hallways. “Is that the row with that really fat dude who keeps talking about his—“

“Boy, Nelson, yes,” I finish begrudgingly.

“*You’re* the blind guy that told him off?” he cries, incredulously.

“Unfortunately,” I reply, scowling.

“Whoa!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know you were cool! Uh, wait…”

‘Did you hear that? He didn’t know you were cool.’

I’m blind, not deaf.

“That’s so cool, though,” Matt says. “How you told that dreg off.”

My lip quirks up into a smirk. “It was my pleasure.”

---

I’m so enwrapped in conversation with this John fellow, that I don’t even catch the person in front of Terry getting their diploma until I hear that same snide voice behind me remark, “Oh, great, the McGinnis kid.”

I frown, casting an evil glare over my shoulder.

‘Don’t bother, Mary. He’s not worth your time.’

Are you deciding to help me, now?

‘I have nothing else to do.’

I shake my head, staring up to my oldest son. It’s finally happening. He’s finally graduating. I smile warmly. I’m not sure how he *did*, but I always knew he could. Nothing could ruin my mood.

That is, until I hear the same man sneer, “I wonder who Wayne paid to get him passed.”

‘Okay, that’s it,’ my conscience growls. ‘He’s going down, now.’

Good call. It’s time to take out the trash.

‘You *had* to be cliché, didn’t you?’

I have nothing else to do.

‘Very funny.’

Can I go tell him off, now?

‘Go to town.’

Oh, *now* who’s being cliché?

‘Be quiet and talk.’

Yes, ma’am.

---

I lead Mr. Wayne to his row, being careful not to attract any attention. “Remember,” he declares, “you didn’t see me.”

“Gotcha,” I answer, letting go of his arm. You know, not to sound like a pervert or anything, but Mr. Wayne has some *really* big arms for a dinosaur. He must have been huge when he was young.

Dutifully, I get ready to start clapping, but I stop when I hear the fat dreg Mr. Wayne was talking about open his big mouth. “I wonder who Wayne paid off to get him passed.”

I take another peek at Mr. Wayne, and he looks *mad*. And, for a guy that big, mad is *bad*. Out of instinct, I take a step back, getting out of the line of fire.

The fact that the guy gets yelled at doesn’t surprise me.

What surprises me is the person who *does* yell at him.

Mom bolts up from her seat, turning around with her hands on her hips.

Uh-oh.

‘He’s toast.’

Yup.

“Do you mind being a bit more polite about what you say about these children?” she snaps. “These people have worked their entire lives to get to this point, and regardless of how well or poorly they did, they deserve to be shown some respect for their accomplishment.”

“Hey, lady,” the dude says, “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Like with that blind man?” she retorts instantly.

I snicker, and get shot a look from him. I smile innocently, and shrug. I look towards Mr. Wayne again, to find him gone. Heh, so *that’s* where Terry learned it from…

“How the hell—”

“Watch your language!” Mom yells at him, snarling. “You have done nothing but been a thorn in everyone’s side from the moment you’ve gotten here. You have abused, insulted, and annoyed every person within earshot, and I for one am tired of it.”

I grin. Go get ‘em, Momzilla.

The guy stands up hastily, grabbing his coat. “Look, I don’t gotta deal with this,” he mutters. “C’mon, Myrtle, we’re leaving.”

“What?” she sputters, her eyes wide. “But, what about Nelson? His car was wrecked, remember? How will he get home?”

“Forget Nelson!” he shoots back. “He can take care of himself, now let’s go!”

“Terrence Alexander McGinnis,” the short principal announces into the mike as the dreg stalks down the aisle and out the door.

All the people around burst into applause, cheering loudly. Mom nods to herself, turning around and clapping. Only then do I actually notice Terry walking down the stage, a wide grin on his face.

Well, I’ll be. It’s actually legit, now. He survived Hamilton Hill High School.

---

“Terrence Alexander McGinnis.”

Wow, now it’s official. I’ve actually survived high school. I hear enthusiastic applause from the crowd around me, and my grin brightens a couple of shades as I strut down the stage, coming face to face with the principal. He grips my hand, shoving the diploma into my arm, a fake smile plastered on his face. “You’re lucky, McGinnis,” he hisses as we pose for the diploma picture. “Next time you may not be.”

“The next time I graduate high school, I’ll remember that,” I quip, smiling innocently. Wow, I can just feel the love. Geez. I start for the carpeted steps, flipping the diploma over in my hand a couple times. I just to make sure it’s real, because if this is a dream, I’m going to be *so* pissed when I wake up.

My moment in the spotlight passes, and I walk down the aisle leading out of the auditorium, looking for Mom, and the Twip. I scan the crowd, noting the strange smell from most of the people; especially the ones with their armpits all in my face. Ugh, as if falling in a dumpster didn’t make my sense of smell go into shock as it is.

Strangely, my conscience is silent.

Maybe that means I’m actually happy?

Damn well better be, for all the crap I went through to *get* here. But, hey, it was worth it, when all’s said and done. I get near to the exit, and I see Mom, smiling and clapping. I’m glad to have made her proud. Seconds later, I spot Matt, who’s also smiling and clapping. He doesn’t even seem to be forcing it, either. Weird; I would’ve thought he’d set a stink-bomb or something, the way he normally acts towards me. Guess I was wrong, huh?

I get within three steps of the exit, and I spot Wayne standing in a far off corner, staring directly at me, with Ace by his side. I’m so shocked to see him there, that I actually slam right into the door before my legs get the idea to stop moving. Blinking, I notice he’s not clapping, but he’s jutting his jaw out, a strange smile on his wrinkled face.

Is he actually proud of me?

‘Does this mean that we’re getting the night off?’

I smile.

Well, what do you know. One night *does* make a difference.


--There ya go!--

[The Guitar Slayer]

<stands up and applauds>

Great job, SK. My best friend just graduated, and she and some of her friends had the same feelings Terry did: "...if this is a dream, I’m going to be *so* pissed when I wake up." :D Nice ending.

[SilverKnight]

Like I said, it was a rough draft, so I went back and edited the final post. :)

And, thanks, Slayer, I'm glad you've liked it. >smiles<

[witness]

First, congradulations on finally finishing this story!!! It was really great. I enjoyed reading the thought patterns of each character and their constant battles with their conscience. Heh, Terry finally graduated! Enjoyed Mary finally telling Nelson's father off. That was well deserved. Surprised to see that the principal was hoping McGinnis to fail miserably. One would think that after finally getting their life in order and on the right track they would have been happy. Terry must have gotten the most improved award from the graduating class. hehehe

[SilverKnight]

Originally posted by witness
First, congradulations on finally finishing this story!!! It was really great. I enjoyed reading the thought patterns of each character and their constant battles with their conscience. Heh, Terry finally graduated! Enjoyed Mary finally telling Nelson's father off. That was well deserved. Surprised to see that the principal was hoping McGinnis to fail miserably. One would think that after finally getting their life in order and on the right track they would have been happy.

:) Thanks. I know it's been a long, LONG while, but I hope it was worth it. And to clear something up, the principal didn't really WANT McGinnis to fail, just was surprised to see him pass, and dind't really think he earned it. He thought Terry charmed his way through school, and that annoyed him, ya know?

Originally posted by witness
Terry must have gotten the most improved award from the graduating class. hehehe

Not really, because Terry didn't exactly improve. He was barely passing before he met Bruce, and just sort of stayed that way. :) >shrugs< At least, that's how I think of it. :) Thanks for the compliment, again. I appreciate it.

[Kylewayne]

*Satnds up and applauds and yells...*

BRAVO! BRAVO! Nicely done SK!
I simply love it !
I could actually visualize the whole story and scenes in my head. My sister thought I was losing it for smiling and laughing out loud.

Girl! You should become a writter!

*hugs*

Now does this mean we have to wait another year for another Bat story? *ducks* :D

[Panther]

You finally finished it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't believe it - you actually let Terry graduate!! :p

>claps wildly<

Bravo! Encore! Bravo! Bravo!! :) :D :D :d

Excellant job. It was a wicked awesome story and I'm just sorry it's over. It was a wonderful ride through different perspectives and very very very /very/ funny.

Great job!!!!

later,