Born to Fly

Prologue - ✔

"We gather here today to celebrate."

The priest stands behind a thick podium, similar to the wooden casket of my father just below him. For a brief moment, I wonder how long it'll be until Pastor Blackfire is in his place. With a name like Blackfire, I must question whether he's heaven-bound at all.

"Those who knew Benjamin Gordon would say he was a good man, a loving husband, and a wonderful father. In my eyes, Ben was the best damn district attorney Gotham has ever seen."

In a sense of prolonged agony, I roll my eyes. Mother twists the sensitive flesh of my underarm.

"Ouch!"

"Please act your age, Sera."

Before I can express my attitude once more, Jim laces his arm around mine. "Can we just try to get through the day without any more blood? It's hard for everyone."

Gotham's streets are pouring with blood; there's no stopping it. The city is a leviathan of darkness. It's cruel, evil, and unfair to those who play its sick game. My dad is no different.

"Maybe if the city wasn't already such a shitty place," I whisper, "Dad wouldn't be dead."

My brother dips his head as if I'm re-opening a wound that I was never supposed to see in the first place. I don't understand why he's acting like this is his first time at a funeral.

But seeing him struggle forces me to recant. "You were unconscious for hours before anyone called the cops. No one blames you—"

"Can't you just leave it alone?" His glare warns of his rising temper. "Please, at least for now."

The sigh that parts his lips is audible, but he's already turned his attention back to the speaker before I have the chance to comment. I turn my own focus to the massive church. Anything to keep my attention from what's truly happening. I make an effort to count the individual pieces of glass in the stained-glass window that depicts a cross.

Surrounded by towering walls and cold concrete pillars, I find myself enjoying the feeling of being so small. Perhaps if my father is everything that Pastor Blackfire is claiming, he would've taken us to church every once in a while. Why not fill the seats he pays for, after all?

"We are in mourning for this beloved man, but we should not be."

My concentration is snatched again.

"He has gone to a better place and one day we will be reunited with him if we only accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior."

Oh. That speech.

Although, I'm pleasantly surprised. That's the only salvation comment he makes. The pastor continues with fond stories, prayers, and some scripture to ease our religious mom. Time seems to speed up. I try and grasp a line of a verse, but he's speaking too quickly. Pallbearers carry the casket out to the hearse. I want to follow, but my feet move too slowly. Everything around me continues to happen and I am trapped in a separate, delayed dimension with no way of escape.

I only return to normal once we're standing around the grave.

"Would anyone like to share a few words about Benjamin?"

Silence deafens my ears. Nobody speaks up! Does nobody have a funny story about my dad, or did they never care to learn one? The quiet tells more than any bullshit speech his old lawyer buddies could give.

The Gotham breeze wisps through the cemetery. Winter is on our heels. How fitting that he would die so close to a season of famine and darkness. The universe must be having a go at the Gordons. I hope they're appeased soon.