Jan. 24th, 2005

toxicodendron_radicans: (toxic)
Danny. Justin. All the others. Gone. Dead. Poisoned. By me. Seven children left that I can save. And time is running out.

I can't believe I'm the one -- no, the thing -- killing these orphans. I don't have many answers only more questions. It's ironic really. Being responsible for killing the few people on this earth that I didn't wish for any harm to come to. Ever.

They were children. Innocent, good and unloved children. I wanted to nuture them. To save them from being alone. I didn't murder them. I didn't know. I didn't. I swear I didn't know. Not that it will matter to anyone in Gotham. They'll never let me out of Arkham if they catch me now.

I'll hopefully sort this out on my own though I'm sure it's only a matter of time before Batman tracks me down. He might listen though. I did help his manservant. I did care for those kids. Surely that counts for something.

It'll be February soon. And then Valentine's Day. Christmas and my plans for wrecking it did not go well. It wasn't because my heart grew three sizes so much as Harley's a klutz. And bad planning on my part. Heroes are distracting.

Which reminds me. No sign of the Flash. Good. If exposure to me over long periods of time kills, then it's better he left. Oh God, I have to keep Harley away from me too. And maybe I should invite the Joker to move in with me.

So on Valentine's Day, I'll work alone. Because I am alone and perhaps it's better this way. If I can't save these children, I'll at least make Gotham pay for slaughtering flowers by the hundreds. And for never giving these children homes. For making it necessary for them to turn to someone as toxic as myself. Because I couldn't save them but at least I wanted to.


Ruining a romantic day won't make the loss of any life I've nutured or cared for acceptable but then what ever does?

I will make people pay but no one will truly answer for their deaths besides myself.

I do suffer. In ways I hadn't imagined possible. I never saw myself as maternal towards children. And yet when I reflect on how I will never get a chance to tell them that I didn't mean to hurt them? That I loved them when I had promised myself that no human being would ever matter?

I hate myself. I hate whatever it is that I am. I regret everything. I would have given anything to have saved them. But I am not weak. I will grow stronger and find the source of this pollution in me.

And remove it.

I sincerely doubt I will ever have pleasant dreams again.

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