two

the paper this morning had an article about those other weirdos. lady writer called them super-villains. i never realized they all had names, like made up, saturday morning cartoon character names. i don't pay that much attention to other people's work i guess. you know, you were the first guy around here to do this stuff. the mask and cape bit. there was no super villain problem until there was a super hero. does that bother you? do you feel responsible for all the pain they've caused?

the lady at the paper didn't mention it, but she must have noticed. you came first. i don't think they want to say anything to upset you. they are afraid of you. hell, i'm afraid of you too. but they are more afraid of the clown guy, and that fat ugly cobblepot. they choose which fears to indulge, i guess. the people out there on the streets tonight, the ones who, five years ago, wouldn't go out after dark, are now walking down the street. laughing, feeling safe, because of you.

trust. trust a guy in a mask? trust a guy who dresses up like every night is october the 31st? who bends the rules and gets the cops to look the other way? i wear a mask too, but i never asked anyone to trust me. i never claimed to be anything other than a thief.

i read another thing about these big timers in that paper, something real strange. they seem to want to get caught. its like some little game they are playing with you, an adult sized, life and death cops and robbers game. they leave little clues, little signatures so you know where they were. even warnings about what they are going to do next. no ransom demands, or offers for peace, just an advertisement. like the comedians on letterman, that always tell you where they are playing next. "catch my next show on thursday in atlantic city." those comedians, they've already made it onto national television. they are on the couch next to dave or jay or johnny, and still they have to ask, beg, for people to notice them. come see me. see me. me.

these big time freaks, they are the same way. it seems like they aren't even doing their work for the money, or the power, or the girls, or anything. its like the thing they really want is to be seen. to know that somewhere out there, a guy is looking for them. granted, its a scary guy with a mask, dressed like a bat, who will probably break their legs given the chance, but that doesn't seem to bother them. like i said, nobody was doing this stuff before there was a hero. there was no point, i guess.

you are the reason they do what they do. i'd love to say that to you some day, but i'll probably never get the chance.

those guys aren't anything like me, though. i've got this guy chasing me, and i hate it. i hate you. it feels strange to write that and see it staring back at me from the paper. i don't know that i've ever hated anyone before. the people i steal from, even the ones i hurt while doing it, i don't hate them. its never personal. i do what i have to do. but now you are chasing me, keeping me from what i need, keeping me awake with this fear, this nightmare of black surrounding me, and there is absolutely nothing i can do about it.