Monday, May 22, 2006

265. The omniscient narrator

Batman strained to lift his head. His mask was still in place, and that was a good sign.

Another good sign was the fact that he could manage to move his head and neck in various directions: up and down, side to side... He quickly deduced that sudden motion was not a good idea, though. Not only was the room spinning at a sickening rate, he was also seeing two and three, sometimes four, of everything. The bat on the belt buckle became a small army of bats, all perched stockstill and waiting for a command before taking flight.

By squinting, he was able to calm the multiplying visions a bit, but things just got blurry then.

He heard something. Hearing was affected, too, by whatever it was he was on: sounds were liquid and echo-ey, punctuated by shrill buzzing noises off in the distance.

The thing he heard was not far away. It was a moan or a groan or a sigh or a breath; he couldn't tell which, and was having trouble concentrating enough to be certain.

He raised his head as high as he could and stared and squinted as hard as he could and tried very, very intently to focus on the form he saw before him.

In time, it became clear.

Oh dear god, he thought to himself. Dear god.