“ it’s a shocking incident, but us worrying about it won’t help. we have to put our minds on something else. “ // selina
PERFECT BLUE SENTENCE STARTERS /// ( @xunreinx )
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬, despite the fire in front of her, despite the exploded warehouse & debris pieces raining down from the sky ──── 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐌'𝐒 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃; a small crowd gathers like cockroaches. phones out, & the show begins anew, just in a different font. This time it wasn't even her fault; she did shit when it blew up. Leave it to Gotham to make even a harmless walk to the chemical dealer an exploding evening. She stands farther from the gaggle of gawkers, a cigarette stick hanging loosely from gloved fingers ( couldn't find her fucking vape before she left ), part of her almost wanted to add gasoline to the fire: unleash her own blend of chemical formula & disaster ──── flames inside the warehouse, chemical warfare outside. god knows the insipid fools would deserve it, but perhaps it was her generosity, or perhaps exhaustion ( losing your edge? ), either way, she wasn't in the mood.
𝐈𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. This was the problem with them. people, always so fucking annoying. Normally, the predictability of all of it ──── a disaster, a headline, gasps & cries & shouts & apathy budding, event after event like mountain blocks- would soothe her. Yes, show her this familiar routine: survive tragedies, sit in a dark room, comment like flies on a wall, & then cling to the ghost of morals; this was her garden, cultivated by poisoned gloved fingers & a gas mask, yet recently all that coursed through malicious veins was ire & exhaustion. It was no longer any fun. That, more than anything, repulsed her. 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓? The hungry eyes of the world still looked at her for the same performance over & over again while ignoring the true message behind every blade she drove into flesh & stained white a shade of red: It was all pointless, death was content.
& 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝, she spots her: Selina Kyle. Speaking to one of the frightened civilians about worrying & distractions. revulsion alights anew. The cigarette bud in her hand is crushed; leave it to them to always say revolting things. She waits for the NPC to depart; the comfort that woman gleaned from ' helping ' calm down the pests almost makes bile rise. Platform heels tap against gravel, announcing her presence to someone seasoned. Mockery & disgust dripping from each syllable. ❝ That your new gag now? ❞ She sneered, voice an octave higher to deliver a performance of equal irritation: ❝ 'Worrying won't help, let's all be stupid & fucking distract ourselves forever.' That's the problem with people like you ──── you keep thinking hope & avoidance are interchangeable instead of looking at shit for what it is: repetition. ❞