A little insight on this. My favorite DC Comics character was The Red Hood (aka Jason Todd aka Robin #2). DC had been doing these “Year One” graphic novels and they were all pretty nice. I wanted to give this character a true origin story. I had even invented a villain for it who was awesome. I had three books planned out for it. This was Volume 1: Remembrance. 

Sadly, I just never got the time to finish it. Most comic books are wrote differently I think. Thus since I didn’t know the format I figured it was pointless. Hopefully someone out there enjoys it. 

They say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. They were right... That is how that I knew I was going to die. Each vision only further accelerated my fear , but somehow they gradually eased me into acceptance. That is what no one has have ever mentioned in an iconic quote. How the seconds stretch into what feels like days... How sounds are amplified with a tremendous clarity and a thunderous roar... How even the blood dripping down my face slowed to the pace of the decrepit old man I would never become... It is as if the whole world had paused to watch my demise... As I sat there suspended in slow motion the visions clouded my reality so much so that I would forget where I was...

My entire life, as short as it may be, there is one memory that I have always had. Like a cobweb draped in the darkest corner of my mind. This quick flash of an image with me being passed around a room. Seeing the faces of my family looking down at me as I drifted through an ocean of extremities. Weightless... Thoughtless... Clueless... It wasn't until the visions that followed came that I realized all of this was actually real. That this was truly where it all began...

Despite the fact that I somehow was able to retain a singular moment as an infant; there were a few years between that memory and the next. I guess my tiny brain was only capable of storing so much at that point, but ask yourself this, do you remember being a newborn? Didn't think so... So I assume that I was doing alright at that point.

The glimpse into my existence was the first of the many unpleasant recollections that would follow. I am unable to determine where I was at exactly, but what I witnessed was myself in a massive room. Not that the room itself was really massive, but from my view point even a common recliner was a colossal mountain. I felt lost. Secluded. Terrified. The scenery was not familiar to me. Even today it remains a foreign land I have yet to revisit. As I sank into the vast sea of the faded flower fabric of the sofa; I was buried by an excruciating burning sensation. At first I assumed it was the constrictive fuzzy red onesie I was trapped in, but after a struggle with the zipper I realized it was something else. With my chest liberated from confinement I still felt no relief. The same statement could be made about the itching feeling that I suddenly became aware of as if it was activated by contact with the air. I struggled to escape the couch. An unexplainable weakness completely consumed me. It was as if I was stranded in a desert, crawling desperately towards salvation. Finally I reached the edge, and I glanced down at the floor which felt miles away. I began my descent with grace and I dug my onesie covered foot into the crevice between the couch cushions with my hand gripping the armrest. My elegant descent was immediately canceled as I plummeted to the floor with a harsh thud. Despite the fact that it was truly a short free fall, the air was forced out of my lungs by the impact. I don't know how old I was or if I was even capable of producing words at that time. What I do know is that I was unable to generate anything. Not a scream, not a whimper, nothing. I was suffocating in silence while frantically awaiting the return of my breath. Finally it arrived and it was followed by a scream which immediately drained my lungs again. I believe it was my aunt who was the first responder, but in my recollection the tears cause the face to be a blur. The last thing I remember is that right as the arms were extended and my rescue was initiated; my bladders contents poured out and I felt the onesie grow heavy. As if all of my stress was drained with it. From here the recollection faded away. Like many memories echoing through my mind they resemble a shattered pain of glass. Scattered... Fragments... Later, at some forgotten family function, I learned that I was three years old and I had chickenpox. And apparently I had a very good memory...

As fragmented as my memories were before, perhaps buried by the sands of time, I can't help but believe that others were dissolved by the collision of his crowbar smashing into my skull. Like the proverbial backspace key, each strike deleting my existence. Further dividing the already broken pieces of my memories. From the "chickenpox incident", as I've so delicately labeled it, time replicates an echo by going from one place to another in an instant. I vaguely view glimpses of traveling with my grandfather, his attempts to distract me from the boredom of the journey, the oddities of the interstate sideshow, and the wonder experienced when reaching our destination. Those visions seemingly stained with flashes of my current reality. The chains... The bloodstains... The bomb... I see brief tastes of happier moments huddled around a birthday cake. Manifesting wishes by extinguishing the flames of candles. Then more images littering my mind in quick pulses. The crowbar... The ticking clock... The same solitary isolation I woke up with in that red onesie... Stranded with the thought that I will meet the same fate as that red urine soaked onesie... Discarded... Forgotten by all but one... Buried in an unknown grave to rot for eternity.... Please... No...

To my fortune, or impending dismay, I am once again removed from reality and catapulted into contemplation. More fragments frequently fly by... Piercing my perspective with pieces of the puzzle that is my past. Lost locations and vibrant visions all fade in and out. Perhaps they were just insignificant and that is why they are so fragmented and condensed. Nevertheless I arrive at the point where my true cognition emerged, and for the first time I notice the correlation with events that spawned the darkness. No chance it is coincidental. It makes sense now. The majority of my childhood I remained oblivious to the obvious. My grandfather, who along with my grandmother lived with my parents and I, had been diagnosed with lung cancer prior to my conception. In the future I would discover that he had already had a lung removed by the time I was born. It always made me smile after I realized that because despite that fact; he still smoked like a raging forest fire. I always respected that decision. He refused to let death dictate how he lived. It seems like most people are blinded by a fear of death, and they let that fear restrict them on a daily basis. Yet in the end we all die anyway so what does it really matter? Perhaps it makes the transition easier for those who have technically never lived at all? I don't know for sure but I know definitively that things began a downward spiral after he passed away.

You see my grandparents lived with us. So the trauma was more intense losing someone you spent every single day with. To me it was the equivalent of losing my parents. Prior to my grandfather's death I don't recall a single dark cloud, but since that day I can't remember a moment where the sunshine wasn't at least partially eclipsed by a looming shadow in the sky. Almost a precise year later and my grandmother was gone. Not deceased but Alzheimer's disease practically erased her entirely. It took her away so quickly that I always felt as if maybe she wanted to forget. I would see her several times before she did depart, but I honestly doubt that she was able to see me as anything other than a stranger. From here the memories return to the inconsistency that has plagued me for so long. I won't blame this on time passing or the crowbar. I felt like it was just simply that we moved around so frequently that I was unable to get acquainted with anything. After a few times even my parents only unpacked the necessities already anticipating another relocation on the horizon. We must have moved at least ten times, but there are only two locations that I remember at all. One was a trailer that always seemed dark and cold, and I remember the carpet in my temporary domicile feeling sticky. The other was the ruins of a tree house. Oddly I don't remember the actual house, but I recall the roofless boat shaped tree house in vivid detail. The definitive moment the darkness took control is now next in the queue of my broken recollection.

I am unclear as to where my origin story actually took place. It was all very small and rural. The tragedy that rained upon us was not yet over. Perhaps for one final time the sun was able to sneak its beams through the dark clouds, but it would once again be swallowed by the impenetrable darkness. For nearly a year I faced the prospect of becoming a "big brother". Having a sibling appealed to me greatly. At this point I had adapted to the isolation that previously tormented me. The frequent relocation prevented any hope of the formation of a friendship. For the year proceeding even my parents seemed distant, but this pregnancy had somehow placed us on the path to a positive turnaround.

All of a sudden the non-fiction fantasy eroded before my eyes. Only for a split second. Enough to see that the chains are still tight enough to cut off the circulation, and to insure that there is no possibility of escape. I don't even think Bruce could do it. Everything else is still distorted. Like static on a television screen layered over the scenery. As my eyes try to decipher the scenery I once again remember... The bomb... I could scream for help but no one would hear it. Just like when I was three my own breath escapes me. This time it is from the sheer panic of the situation. I once again retreat into my memories...

In a blink of an eye I am no longer in the chair. I'm in the backseat of my parent's car. A delightful melody pours from the speakers, and even with grey clouds above the sun is still outshining everything. It seems like every direction I look produces nothing but smiles... Somehow I submit to my own denial. When I was living this moment I never saw it coming, and I was unaware that I would never see true happiness again... Yet even knowing the outcome is a certainty, I have convinced myself into believing... I am drowning in my own doubts just as I have in so many previous nightmares. Once again the darkness hits me and I never saw it coming...

I wasn't wearing a seat belt and I was lost in nature passing by my window. So I never saw the intoxicated driver who ran us off the road. I do remember the same "slow motion" sensation that I am prisoner to at this moment as we closed in on the trees in front of us. Something deep within the pit of my stomach had deceived me into expecting us to stop within inches of the collision. Despite watching us drift towards doom in slow motion things somehow went black before the impact. In the immediate moments following the accident I must have been in and out of consciousness. Again, I find myself left with nothing more then fragments of that time frame. I remember opening my eyes to see my father slumped over the steering wheel. Everything was upside down, twisted metal became my sky and my ground consisted of tiny shards of shattered glass. It always goes black right as my Mother's screams begin.

Somehow we were all extracted from the mangled wreckage alive. We all left with something extra that day. I managed to make it out with only a few deep incisions and a concussion. All of which seemed mild in comparison to the suffering my parents endured. My father had multiple vertebra that were crushed which overcast the many other bones he had which were fractured. Several of his teeth were snapped in half or broken in some way. He bore staples, stitches, pins and rods to repair the many lacerations and fractures. Thanks to the miracles of modern medicine he would regain the ability to walk, but vicious nerve damage would infect his every step with pain. My mother's entire ribcage was crushed, and she had various internal injuries inflicted. They induced an early labor to try and rescue my brother to be, but it was apparently a lost cause. The injuries sustained were far too much for the frailty of the fetus. Despite the fact that we technically did not walk away without a casualty, everyone was so thankful to have survived that it was something that we never truly discussed. There was no funeral for my infant sibling, but the unknown truth was that my family would never be the same... Later I often caught myself contemplating if perhaps it would have been better for us all to have perished together...

The months of necessary hospitalization, several surgeries, and all of the time required for recovery quickly depleted my families finances. Thanks to these events my father would never work again. The disability funding he received was unable to even put a dent in the debt we had been launched into. We were forced to move to The Narrows of Gotham because my parents still had morals and insisted on sheltering me to some degree. However, I expect that they would have preferred to expose me to the elements of nature instead of the elements of this concrete crime laced monstrosity. The building we moved into was a cacophony of chaos. Homeless huddled in the hallways, gangs trafficked in the stairwells, and most of the occupants were wraiths watching silently through the fisheye lenses of the peepholes in their deadlocked doors. The first time I laid eyes on the building I assumed that it was condemned. As I stood in the massive shadow cast by the behemoth, I felt a rush of adrenaline when I discovered these were the projects where we were to reside. The door to our apartment required no force at all to open. The hinges shined and were clearly brand new. When the door opened I noticed something trapped in the crevice between the door and the frame. I tried to forget it as the odor of chemicals immediately invaded my senses. I looked back at the object and I realized that I could not resist this distraction. I wearily reached for it and it became clear as it emerged. It was a tattered piece of crime scene tape. I was flooded with questions. What went on here? Did someone die in here? Had the GCPD raided this place? Something told me I didn't want to know the answers to those questions...

A sharp pain retrieved me from my reprieve. In the midst of tumbling through my memories I had again almost forgot where I was at. The clock is still ticking... Ribs broken... Everything remained a blur as I tasted iron and felt the thickness of the blood in my mouth. I'm not sure if it was from the teeth that were removed, or if it is a result of internal injuries. At least I can take comfort in the fact that my arms are entirely numb. The room around me is a haze flickering in and out. I try to blink to gain some clarity but my eyes refuse to open back up as I drift back into the abyss...

The apartment walls were dark and the windows so stained that you couldn't make out the scenery below. As we toured the small space we were to inhabit a loud thud from above startled me. The noise was followed by a distant shouting of a couple's dispute. Luckily it soon subsided and the voices vanished. We had sold off everything we owned since we couldn't bring it on the bus. My room was small, I felt like the tree house provided more floor space, but I sprawled my sleeping bag on the floor accompanied by my lone pillow. I left the backpack with my clothes close by in case we had to evacuate on a moment's notice. I don't think I slept at all. It is hard to distinguish when you are living in your own nightmare.

The first day of school was equally as hellish. My hand trembled as I gripped the door knob, but I forced myself to turn it slowly but surely. With every step I took I could feel the eyes watching me. Eventually I diverted my own gaze to the ground so that I didn't connect with the desperation of those eyes. Their conversations, complaints, and pleas fell upon deaf ears as if I was traveling through a sea of static. The streets yielded the same sorrows as I ventured through them. Never had a child so badly wanted to enter a school building. That is until I saw it. The school was as rugged and rough as the projects. The faculty guarding the gateway wore a weathered look of grimace on their face. No smiles here... No sunshine... The skies were blanketed with black and grey. As if it is always night time in Gotham. The teachers did not seem enthusiastic about anything. It was all very dull and I soon became overwhelmed with the same static I had felt on the way here. The days became the same way. Blending into one another and passing in what felt like a second.

As the months flew by things only continued to decline. My father had fallen deeper into dependency on the medications that numbed his constant pain. My mother had found work at a branch of the GCPD in cyber crimes. She was able to operate out of our house, and she spent most of her time imprisoned behind a computer screen. I would often spectate her. She would occasionally help decipher the code as if it were hieroglyphic in nature and try to share her world with me. Other times she was essentially in a war with some faceless enemy and refused to allow her concentration to be broken. Hours would pass where it seemed like she didn't blink. Her and her colleges once spent almost a solid month in a "battle" with a guy using the alias of "Calculator", and there were countless other occasions where I remained in seclusion. My father was always in one of two states and neither of them was desirable. He was either so "medicated" that he was escaping his reality, or he was in pure agony buried in desperation. His habit insured that we could not ascend from this situation... Tick.... Tock...

Again my eyes open to the horrors of my current status. He's back... The crimson smile permanently engraved on his face, teeth exposed and tongue lashing, pinpoint black pupils that somehow draw you into his grey lifeless eyes, pale white skin stretched over his thin bones, and the hideous contrast of green hair combined with his purple suit. Only for a second were his words static, until he gently lifted my chin up with the slightest application of force from his index finger. Still smiling... It takes a moment before the confusion vanishes. It is as if he can feel the heat of my blood boiling, the pressure of my teeth grinding into one another, and the absolute hatred which instantly consumed my heart...

"Ahhhhh. There you are..." He spewed out the words as if his tongue were a venomous serpent. "For a moment I thought we had scrambled the baby bird's eggs. C.B. you are going to have to learn to control that temper of yours!" He said looking at the crowbar, caressing it in one hand and pointing at it with the other in a scolding manner. "After all we wouldn't want to spoil the surprise..." he whispered lifting the crowbar to his ear. His body remained still facing the same direction, but his neck slowly twisted in a sinister fashion as if he was possessed. Still smiling... Our eyes locked again for a moment, but then he shifted through a variety of facial expressions. Presenting the appearance of awe, confusion, disgust, and finally he covered his mouth with a hand to indicate a hint of guilty pleasure. "Oh C.B. you are so very naughty. I love it! Not just yet though" he muttered comically looking me in the eye every second of the sentence. He slithered in my direction with his odd swagger, his limbs flailing wildly as if he was dancing with the crowbar. Still smiling... The clock is still ticking... "Oh Robby, what a party it was last night. You were so out of it! I knew it was a night to remember so thankfully C.B. had the idea to snap off some photos!" He thrust his gloved hand into the pockets within his jacket and it emerged with a dirty yellow rubber chicken "No! That's not it" he giggled as he threw it and dived back into the pocket. Out came a deck of cards tossed into the air raining down around him. Followed by a handful of wind-up chattering teeth that took off upon contact with the concrete. Then he sped up producing a variety of strange items and tossing them aside. Glasses with no lenses, a giant plastic nose, and a thick black mustache. A magic wand that produced limp flowers with a tap. A classic yellow No. 2 pencil. "No! No! No!" He exclaimed shifting his eyebrows to exaggerate disappointment but yet still smiling the entire time. Lastly he pulled out a small button with tattered paint. "Here you go Robby" he stated as he leaned in my direction with a graceful awkwardness. He fastened the button overtop of the "R" on my ripped and shredded uniform. He had concealed it until he stepped away. "Very nice!" He exclaimed returning to his jacket pocket. I looked down at the button. It read "Vote for Harvey Dent, Gotham City District Attorney". I understood the joke here, and released a wheezing giggle that sent a shockwave of pain through my body. He diverted his eyes for a split moment. He seemed pleased at this before he produced a pistol. "I'm gowin' wobin huntin', he-he-he" he said pointing the gun at me. "Bang!" he shouted as he squeezed the trigger. A liquid projected out of the barrel and burned upon contact with my face. At first I thought it was acid. As it dripped down to my lips I realized it was just water, and that the burning sensation was from entering one of the many lacerations on my face. By the time the shock had dissipated I looked up to see him presenting a photo. He was holding it with both hands as far away from his body as possible. He had the appearance of a child submitting macaroni artwork to a parent for approval. "Tah-dah!" he said almost musically. It was clear he expected the reaction on my face as he hastily inspected the photo he was holding. "Oh my! What is that doing in there?" he screeched as if horrified by an item no more strange than anything else he was carrying. The photo was himself in front of a drape depicting a beach. He was wearing nothing but smiley face covered swimming trunks, with a brightly colored beach ball tucked between his hips and left arm, massive pink sunglasses concealing his dead eyes, a huge sombrero like hat, flip-flops, and he was giving a thumbs up with his body contorted to produce a synthetic awkwardness.

"Here we go" he snapped, as if he could tell I was bored with this game he was playing. He flashed photos one by one for me to witness. The photos were almost all identical with the only thing difference being his expressions. He was crouched down to my level, pulling my hair backwards in order to lift my head up with his right arm, and holding the crowbar up with his left hand to simulate it as a third person. He concealed his teeth as he caught my eyes casting attention elsewhere. "Oh, you're worried about the surprise? The time is almost up, Mr. Robinson and I know you are just dying to find out what it is. We will leave you to it then" he muttered fainting disappointment. Then he strutted away with that same graceful awkwardness, crowbar in hand, and the heavy steel door slammed behind him. My eyes had merely glanced at the clock sitting on the rusted Ace Chemicals barrel. Several wires were creeping out like vines and seemingly connected to a bundle of dynamite sticks. The digital letters were a glowing bright green and had been counting down for the last 14 hours. I assumed he had started it at 24 and I was in and out of consciousness for the majority of that time. The timer would frequently transform into the numbers 81:81 and almost instantly switch back to the countdown. I find it coincidence that 81:81 spells out "Ha Ha" if you assign the number to the corresponding letter from the alphabet. The seconds are descending at full speed now. I am shackled so tightly that I can't even flinch. I still try with everything I have. As the final 10 seconds appear the "slow motion" effect returns. I stop struggling. Acceptance... I force my eyes to stay open, and tell myself this won't be like the tree. 9... I will see it coming this time. 81:81... Where are you Bruce? 7... If it were YOU, I would be here! 6... He isn't coming. 5... Why?!?! 4... 3... 2... 1...

I watched the final number disintegrate sluggishly. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I tried but my instinctive reflexes seized control as I winced expecting the hellfire to consume me. After a few silent seconds I worked up the nerve to force open a single eye. Nothing. The face of the clock was just 81:81 blinking. Suddenly it stopped flashing and the letters turned red. A small display of green and purple fireworks began exploding lighting up the otherwise dimly lit room. Revealing racks filled with barrels as far as I could see. Then everything stopped. Every light, including the lone bulb that had illuminated my area of captivity, shut off and darkness flooded the room. The only light being the red digits on the clock. They remained off for what felt like forever. Just long enough for my eyes to adapt. Buried in darkness... Drowning in the silence... Then I heard the laughing echoing through the abyss. "Here's to you Mr. Robinson, Joker loves you more then you will know! Whoa-Whoa-Whoa" he sang out as all of the lights jolted on. A cascade of balloons burst from nearby barrels concealing almost everything within sight. On them were painted silhouettes of his face and "Ha Ha" scattered over the remainder. He continued singing the same chorus as the spectacle unfolded. A singular balloon slowly floated my direction. Directly in eye level like it was looking at me. Its string lashing about like a severed lizard tail. Despite the relief that overwhelmed me I could not longer contain it. "Do it! Just do it you freak!" I yelled as loud as I could. So loud my throat was burning as if my words contained the toxicity I felt towards him. Pain echoed through my ribcage but I ignored it. It was obsolete. For the first time since waking up here I felt movement in the chains as I tried to rip myself out in a rage. "Mark my words clown. You better do it. You better kill me right here and now. Because if you don't I will come for you. I will find you no matter where you try to hide. And when I find you I am going to take you apart piece by piece. I will wipe that smile off your face and I will kill you." The words just spilled out like the blood gushing from my many wounds. As much as I tried to provoke him he remained completely un-phased. Still smiling... "Oh Robert, you're not yourself when you're hungry" he chuckled pulling a candy bar out of his pocket. "I know how you baby birds like your meals." he said as he pealed the wrapper away. He took a bite and began to chew. Showcasing the quickness I had been warned about he lunged forward and was immediately face to face with me. Only a few small inches away still chewing. His aura reeked of vileness as if his internal organs were made of bile as I had always suspected they were. He tightly clutched my jaw trying to force my mouth open so he could spit the candy into it. I resisted with everything I had all while starring into those lifeless eyes projecting as much hatred as possible. Glass shattering interrupted his foulness and a bat-a-rang sliced through a balloon spraying an explosion of confetti everywhere. My heart jumped with happiness. Finally!

He stumbled backwards and swallowed his mouthful before shouting, "Oh now it's really a party!" I expected Bruce to appear any moment and finish this. I already envisioned one of Alfred's best steaks and a week long retreat in my oversized bed at the manor. Then I saw the shadow figure with the cape and cowl clear as day. Then another and another. I blinked to try and restore clarity. As they stepped into the light my hopes died entirely. Each one was wearing a feeble imitation of the different suits from eras before mine, and the one in the center wearing the present day suit. Each one could almost pass if it weren't for the white skin with red smiles. They began to prance around making simulated sound effects. "Bang! Pow! Bap!"