Thursday, December 4, 2014

12-4-14 Writing Warm-up
1:51 PM

12-4-14 Writing Warm-up

12-4-14 Writing Warm-up
Artwork © Four Fools Press, All Rights Reserved -
Characters (Batman, Joker) © D.C. Comics/Warner Brothers, All Rights Reserved
Story © Brannon Hall, All Rights Reserved
Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

“Watch this witch watch which watches
which witch watching
the path with tick tock clocking.
Further back, further ahead.
Wondering wonders as
we wandering men wonder
which witch watch
will leave the bat dead?”
 - Joker

The blinding blue-white light faded, leaving its all-to-familiar effects behind: nausea, wildly flying spots before his eyes, vertigo, and so on. He grimaced and shrugged them off--barely. Even in his peak physical and mental condition, Bruce could barely keep himself moving; these time jumps were like a kick in the head from a war horse! He had to wonder if these effects were merely a result of the time travel or a sinister side effect of Joker's little gadget. Regardless, the effects of the temporal distortion faded quickly.

“Now,” he stated aloud to no one, “WHEN am I?”

A quick look around told him what he needed to know.

Not Gotham!

Bruce sighed. He was getting tired of chasing the Joker through time. Not that he had much of a choice. The first jump had caught him by surprise and snatched him up, along for the ride back to the age of dinosaurs. When he came to, the Joker was running around stomping on bugs and pulling wings off butterflies. Bruce rolled his eyes. He couldn't allow the Joker to alter history, but in the process he also couldn't rid himself of the irritant or allow him to get killed in his mad cap dance across time. If he died, Bruce would be stuck in whatever time they were in.

“Where’s Kent when ya need him?” Bruce scoffed as he followed a path of bent grass that led to the top of a nearby hill. “This non-violent adventure crap is much more his style.” From the top of the rise, Bruce paused as he looked around. “Well, that answers that,” he stated flatly.

 At the base of the hill lay a sprawling village that nestled up against a tall, towering castle. He could see a number of wagons and carts massing in the fields outside the village. It appeared to be the start of some sort of festival. A big one at that. Bruce looked down at his attire. Oddly enough, his Batman outfit felt almost right at home here.

“Please tell me this is not Camelot,” he growled to himself as he started toward the village. The worn path in the tall grass told him someone had come through here recently. A wingless butterfly told him who.

Bruce stepped out onto the open cobble stone path. A few villagers took brief notice of the black armored knight but returned back to what they were doing quick enough.

“Damn!” he mumbled under his breath as he turned up the road leading toward the festivities. The Dark Knight stepped aside as a wagon spilling over with people rumbled by. “There are times I really hate my life.”

The rickety-wheeled transport full of loudly dressed court jesters passed under a garish sign that was stretched high in the air across the road:



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