✘ɨɳfҿɕƫɨσʋʂ ┇Aut൦plaᶌ

ᴵᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ˢᶜʳᵃᵗᶜʰ ᶦᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʳᵉᵐᶦᶰᵈˢ ʰᶦᵐ ᵒᶠ ʳᵃᶻᵒʳ ᵇᶫᵃᵈᵉˢ, ᶜʳᵃʷᶫᶦᶰᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵉᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵉᵐᵇʳᵃᶰᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵉˢᵒᵖʰᵃᵍᵘˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵒᶠ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ, ᶰᵃᵍᵍᶦᶰᵍ ˢᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᶦˢ ᵗᵒᶰᵍᵘᵉ ᵖʳᵒᵈˢ ᵃᵗ ᶦᵗ ᶦᶰˢᵘᶠᶠᵉʳᵃᵇᶫʸ ⁻⁻ ᵉᶰᵈᶫᵉˢˢᶫʸ⋅ ᴴᵉ ᵇᶦᵗᵉˢ ᵈᵒʷᶰ, ᶦᶰᶜᵃᵖᵃᵇᶫᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶫᵉᵗᵗᶦᶰᵍ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ˢᵖᵉʷ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶦᶜᵏᶰᵉˢˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵇᵘᶦᶫᵈᶦᶰᵍ ᶦᶰˢᶦᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦᵐ, ᵘᶰˢᵉᵉᶰ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ, ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᶫᵈ ʷᵃᶰᵗˢ ᶦᵗ⋅ ᴸᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃʳᵉᶫʸ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᶦᵗˢ ʷᵃʸ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᶫᶦᶰᵈˢ, ˢᵗᵃᶦᶰᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵈᶦˢᶜᵒᶫᵒʳᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᶰᶦᶜᵒᵗᶦᶰᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵈᵘˢᵗ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵇᵒᵗʰᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶜᶫᵉᵃᶰ﹔ ˢʰᵉ’ˢ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵈʳᵘᶰᵏ ᵗᵒ ᶰᵒᵗᶦᶜᵉ ᶠᶦᶰᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵃᶦᶫˢ⋅

❝ᴮʳᵉᵃᵏᶠᵃˢᵗ⋅❞ ʳᵃᵗ ᵖᵒᶦˢᵒᶰ, ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ˢᵐᵃᶫᶫ ᵃᵐᵒᵘᶰᵗ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒᵒᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵉᵃᶫ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵉᶰᵈˢ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ, ˢʰᵉ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈᶰ’ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ⁻⁻ ʰᵉʳ ˢʰʳᶦᶫᶫ ᵛᵒᶦᶜᵉ ᵏᶰᵒᶜᵏˢ ʰᶦᵐ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᶫᶦᵗʸ, ᵃᵇʳᵘᵖᵗᶫʸ ⁻⁻  ❝ᴵ’ᵐ ʷᵃᶦᵗᶦᶰᵍ⋅❞  

ˢᵒ ᶦˢ ʰᵉ⋅

@midhighlunacy

It’s not long, however for a loud BANGING sound of a door echos, the next two voices fill the otherwise silence. Jerome unlike his twin had selected to remain out for most of the night. His arrival no doubt leaves Lila seething in a shade of RED. Hand making a right slap to his face that causes his head to snap violently to one side. His forces his mouth into a simple and expressionless line. 

❝And where the hell were YOU, you fucking piece of ungrateful shit!? You think you can just come and go as you please,  and leave your brother to pick up the slack?!❞

Well, it wasn’t like this was the first time she went off yelling. She was either directing her fury to him or the other ginger. It was as if both were this hidden THORN in her side, and never he could he understand why. He tried to figure out why she was always, so mad. he spend his CHILDHOOD attempting to reach out for CLOSURE. When his teens came, he stopped caring. He rebelled. He begin to go out more, he took up drinking, smoking and various lethal drugs, so he wouldn’t be stuck DEALING with his emotions and how shit she made him feel. 

Hell! He was still coming down from another acid trip. Her words barely scratch the surface aside from his occasional bodily functions. 

❝I do what I please.❞

It’s a familiar line, a familiar tone and it’s something he’s always left saying as if to remind her of where they stood. If it was just him he’d had left a long time ago. Ran away, lived on the streets if he had to. But he couldn’t. He stayed for his twin. His twin is the only person left he could genuinely care for. And if something ever happened. He’d bring hell down onto the heads of all.  

ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦˢ ᶰᵒᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ʰᶦᵐ ʷʰᵉᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵇʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᶫᵉᵃᵛᵉˢ, ᶰᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶦᶰˢᵗᶦᶰᶜᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵉᶠᵉᶰᵈ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᶰᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᵘᵐᵇᶦᶰᵍ ᵉᶠᶠᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈʳᵘᵍˢ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦˢ ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ᶦᶠ ʰᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉᶰ’ᵗ ˢᵒ ᵗᵉʳʳᶦᶠᶦᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ’ᵈ ᵉᶰᵈ ᵘᵖ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ⋅ ᴵᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵒʷᶰ ˢᵉᶫᶠᶦˢʰ ʷᵃʸ, ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᶜᵃʳᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˢᶰᵉᵃᵏᶦᶰᵍ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃᵗ ᵃᶫᶫ ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᶦᵍʰᵗ, ᶜᵒᵐᶦᶰᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶦᶰ ᶫᵉˢˢ⁻ᵗʰᵃᶰ⁻ᶦᵈᵉᵃᶫ ᶠᵒʳᵐ ʷʰᶦᶫᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᶦᶰᵍ ᵈᵒʷᶰ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ᵏᶦᶰᵈ ᵒᶠ ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃᶰᶜᵉ⋅ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ˢᶦᶜᵏᵉᶰᶦᶰᵍ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᴶᵃᶜᵏ’ˢ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ᵗᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᑫᵘᶦᵉᵗ, ʳᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵈᵒᶜᶦᶫᵉ ⁻⁻ ˢᵉᵉᶰ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶰᵒᵗ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ, ᵘˢᵘᵃᶫᶫʸ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵉʳ ᶦˢ ᵖʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵃᵇᶫᵉ⋅

ˢᵒ ʰᵉ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉˢ ᵒᶰ, ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵗʳᵃᶦᶰᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶰᵉᵃʳ⁻ᵐᵘᵗᵉ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘˢ ᵃᶫᵐᵒˢᵗ ᶜᵒᶰˢᵗᵃᶰᵗᶫʸ, ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᵃˢᵗ ᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᶰᵉᵉᵈ ᶦˢ ᵃᶰᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵒᵐᵉˢᵗᶦᶜ ᵈᶦˢᵗᵘʳᵇᵃᶰᶜᵉ ᶜᵃᶫᶫ ᵒʳ ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴴᵃᶫʸ’ˢ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵏᶦᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶫᶦᶰᵉ⁻ᵘᵖ⋅ ᴬ ˢᶫᵃᵖ ᵃᵍᵃᶦᶰˢᵗ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ’ˢ ᶜʰᵉᵉᵏ ᵉᶜʰᵒᵉˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᵃᶦᶫᵉʳ, ᵃᵐᵖᶫᶦᶠᶦᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶦᶫᵉᶰᶜᵉ ˢᵖᵃʷᶰᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦᵈᵈᵉᶰ ʳᵃᵍᵉ⋅ ᴬᶫᶫ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃᶰ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦᵗ ʷᵒᶰ’ᵗ ᵇᵉ ᶜᶫᵒˢᵉᵈ ᶠᶦˢᵗˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᵉˣᵗ ʳᵒᵘᶰᵈ⋅

❝ᴸᵉᵗ’ˢ ᵍᵒ⋅❞ ʰᵉ ᵖᶦᶜᵏˢ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᵘᵖ, ᵘᶰˢᵘʳᵉ ᶦᶠ ᶦᵗ’ᶫᶫ ᵇᵉ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵒᶠᶠᵉᶰᵈ ʰᵉʳ, ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᶦᶰ ᵖᵃᶦᶰ ᶦᶠ ˢʰᵉ’ˢ ᶦᶰᶜᶫᶦᶰᵉᵈ, ᵖʳᵉᵖᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʳᵘᶰ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵒᶰᵗ ᵈᵒᵒʳ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶰᵒʷ⁻ʳᶦᵈᵈᵉᶰ ᶜᵒᶰᶜʳᵉᵗᵉ ʰᵘᵇ ᵒᶠ ᶜʳᶦᵐᵉ ⁻⁻ ᶦᵗ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳ ʰᶦᵐ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉ, ᵗʰᶦˢ ʰᵉᶫᶫ ˢᵖᵉᶜᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᶫᶫʸ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒᶰᵃᶫᶦᶻᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᶦᵐ⋅ ᵁᶰᵉᵃˢᶦᶫʸ, ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵈᵒᵍ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᶦᵗˢ ᵗᵃᶦᶫ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ᶦᵗˢ ᶫᵉᵍˢ, ᵘᶰˢᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃʳᵖ ᶜᵃᶰᶦᶰᵉˢ ᵃᶫᵒᶰᵍ ʰᶦˢ ᵖᵒʷᵉʳᶠᵘᶫ ʲᵃʷ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵒᵘᶫᵈ ˢᶰᵃᵖ ᵃᵗ ᵃᶰʸ ᵒᵖᵖᵒʳᵗᵘᶰᶦᵗʸ, ʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵉˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉˢ ᵃ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦˢ ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈᵉʳ ᶦᶰ ᵍᵘᶦᵈᵃᶰᶜᵉ, ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵍᶦᵛᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ᵖᶫᵉᵃ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᶦᵐ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᶫʸ⋅

                                            ❝ᵂᵉ ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵍᵒ⋅❞

likeavirus:

         ’   yeknow…….. you all say the saaame  THING. i’ve HEARD this a  million  times in a hundred   se - ma - tics    but nobody… . —–        NOBODY CARES    —– what ya can do—–  ‘     ‘                   —-now —- i feel a little   ITCH   son. a little TINGLE in MY  haaaaaand  so   great this WHISTLE’S gonna   blowwwwwwwww-ww.   ‘         he’s moved, kinetic muscles in his thighs keeping that bundle of rickety nerves just together. luminous green mellows in the pale light as he straightens form being too CLOSE to him. his tilting head causes a tendon in the neck surface, just near the base where the invisible   'CUT ME’   line was drawn polemically by all the heros of gotham.     the spark in his eyes hedges with the implacable promise of  MURDER—-   and yet the   RELUCTANCE    to do so  C R E E P S  in like a shadow drafting CLOSE to his frame. it’s part of him like an extension that strengthens him and makes him WHOLE. unique humour COASTS along his tongue in a callous declaration—- heel STRIKES the ground, turning him SHARPLY to face away from the kid while his   gun hand swings behind him in a deliberate BLIND AIM——       the joker PULLS the trigger, hoping that he’d    HIT  him fairly   IN THE CHEST. 

ᴵᵗ ᵇᵘʳᶰˢ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ʰᵉᶫᶫᶠᶦʳᵉ ʷʰᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉ

                                               ᵇᵃᶰᵍ﹗

                                                      ʰᵃˢ ʷᵒʳᶰ ᵒᶠᶠ, ᶫᵉᵃᵛᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ˢʰʳᶦᶫᶫ ʳᶦᶰᵍᶦᶰᵍ ᶦᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵉᵃʳˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵃᵈᵉˢ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵃ ᶫᵒʷ ʰᵘᵐ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵉʳᵐᵃᶰᵉᶰᵗ ᵈᵃᵐᵃᵍᵉ ᵗᵒ ʰᶦˢ ˢᵉᶰˢᵉˢ, ᶰᵒ ᵈᵒᵘᵇᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᵃʳᵍᵉ ᶜᵃᶫᶦᵇᵉʳ⋅ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ’ˢ ᶰᵒ ᵐᵉᵈᶦᶜᵃᶫ ᵉˣᵖᵉʳᵗ, ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ᵏᶰᵒʷˢ ᶦᵗ ʷᵉᶰᵗ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ʰᶦˢ ᶫᵉᶠᵗ ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈᵉʳ, ᵘᶰˢᵘʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ᵒʳ ᶰᵒᵗ ᶦᵗ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˢᶦᵈᵉ⋅ ᴬᶰ ᵃᵘᵈᶦᵇᶫᵉ ʸᵉᶫᵖ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵃᵗ, ᶰᵒᵗ ᵒᶰᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᶦᶫᶫᵉᵈ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵉˣᶦˢᵗᵉᶰᶜᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʰᶦˢ ᶜᵃˢᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉᶦᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵖᵉᶫᵉˢˢ ᵛᶦᶜᵗᶦᵐ⋅ ᶜᵒᵘᶫᵈ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ʷᵒʳˢᵉ⋅ ᴰᵒᵘᵇᶫᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵃᶰᵈ ʳᵒᶜᵏᶦᶰᵍ ˢᶫᶦᵍʰᵗᶫʸ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵃᵏᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵈʳᵉᶰᵃᶫᶦᶰᵉ’ˢ ᶠᶦᵍʰᵗᶦᶰᵍ, ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶰᵗˢ ᶠᶦᵛᵉ ᵍᵘᶰˢ, ᵒᶰᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᶠᶦʳᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᶫᵉ ᵒᶠᶠ ᶜᵉᶰᵗᵉʳ⋅

ᴴᵉ’ˢ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵒᵖᵉ ᶫᵒᵒˢᵉᶰᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʰᶦˢ ᵇᵒᶰʸ ʷʳᶦˢᵗˢ, ᵖᵘᶫᶫᵉᵈ ᵗᵃᵘᵍʰᵗ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶦᶰᵗᵉᶰᵗᶦᵒᶰ ᵒᶠ ᶦᵗ ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵃʳᶦᶰᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵃᶰᵈᵃʳᵈ, ᵃ ᵗʳᶦᶜᵏ ᵗʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵍᵒᶰᵉ ᵘᶰᶰᵒᵗᶦᶜᵉᵈ⋅ ᴵᶰᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᵉᶰᵗ ᵗʰᵘᵍˢ⋅ ˢᵐᵃᶫᶫ ᵃᵗ ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ, ᶦᵗ ʳᵃᵗᵗᶫᵉˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶦᶰˢᶦᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᶜʰᵉˢᵗ ᶜᵃᵛᶦᵗʸ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵇᵘᶦᶫᵈˢ, ᶦᶰᵈᶦˢᵗᶦᶰᵍᵘᶦˢʰᵃᵇᶫᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃ ʷʰᶦᵐᵖᵉʳ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵍᶦᶰᶰᶦᶰᵍ ˢᵗᵃᵍᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵍʳᵒʷᶦᶰᵍ⋅ ᴵᵗ ᶜᵉᵃˢᵉˢ, ᵃᵇʳᵘᵖᵗᶫʸ ᵃᶰᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ᵖᵒᶦᶰᵗ, ᶫᵒᵒᵏᶦᶰᵍ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᶦˢ ᵉʸᵉᵇʳᵒʷˢ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶰ ᶜᵒᶰˢᶦˢᵗᶦᶰᵍ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵘʳᵖᶫᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵍʳᵉᵉᶰ⋅ ᵀᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶦᵈᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵏᶰᵉᵉ ᶦˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᶦᵏᵉˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʰᶦˢ ᶠᵒᵒᵗ, ᵃ ᶠᵃʳ ᵗᵒᵒ ˢᵃᵗᶦˢᶠʸᶦᶰᵍ ᵖᵒᵖ ᵉᵛᶦᵈᵉᶰᶜᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵉᶫᶫᵃ ʰᵃˢ ˢᶫᶦᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉ⋅ ᴴᵉ ʳᵉᵛᵉᵃᶫˢ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗᵃᵏᶦᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵘᶰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦˢ ʰᶦᵖ, ᵈᵒᵘᵇᶫᵉ⁻ʲᵒᶦᶰᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵘᵐᵇ ˢᶫᶦᵈᶦᶰᵍ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃᵐᵐᵉʳ ᵗᵒ ᵈʳᵃʷ ᶦᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁻⁻ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵖᶫᵒᵗ ᵗʷᶦˢᵗ﹗

❝ᵂᵉᶫᶫ, ᶦᵗ ᶫᵒᵒᵏˢ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵐʸ ᵗᵘʳᶰ⋅❞ ʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒʷᶫˢ ᶦᶰ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ᵃ ˢᵗʳᶦᶰᵍ ᵒᶠ ᶫᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ, ᵈᶦˢʲᵒᶦᶰᵗᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ʳᵃˢᵖʸ, ᶫᵃᶜᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᵃᵈᵐᶦᵗᵗᵉᵈᶫʸ ᶫᶦᵏᵉˢ ᶦᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵒʷᶰ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᶫᵉ ʷᵃʸ, ❝ᴺᵒʷ ᵗᵉᶫᶫ ᵐᵉ ⁻⁻ ˢᶦᶰᶜᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵒ ʳᵘᵈᵉᶫʸ ᶦᶰᵗᵉʳʳᵘᵖᵗᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵐᶦᵈ⁻ᵖᵉʳᶠᵒʳᵐᵃᶰᶜᵉ ⁻⁻ ʷʰᶦᶜʰ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶫᶦᵐᵇˢ ᵈᵒ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᵉᵃˢᵗ﹖❞ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ᶜᵃᶰ’ᵗ ʰᵉᶫᵖ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ʷʰᵉᶰ ʰᵉ ʰᵒʷᶫˢ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ⋅

JEROME.

The PAIN from the physical blow was the easiest part of this game but the MESSAGE behind it was much harder to ignore. Blue eyes STEAL to the doorway, the only CHANCE that Jerome has to be spared… from him. 

          “ I’m NOTHING like you, ” he says lowly, taking steady              steps toward BOTH the exit and the rabid animal that              spat out UGLY TRUTHS. 

His fists lower but they never unclench, hanging at his side and FORCED to stay there. Jim would always deny it but there’s a side to him that no one knows about, the “WAR HERO” in him that everyone praised, who really, has a higher body count compared to the kid in front of him. Somehow, Jerome could SEE it, past the mask of a HERO to the blood splattered face of the SINNER. 

           “ And you have NO idea who you’re dealing with. ”

It’s a desperate SCRAMBLE to keep the bloodlust down. He’s gotten BETTER at it since coming to Gotham but there were times, SO many times when it almost broke free. It’s getting HARDER to suppress with each passing day and sometimes, JUST enough gets through the cracks that he lashes out in an ALL consuming anger. And Jerome can somehow FEEL that weakness, CIRCLING and waiting for that small lapse in self control, ENCOURAGING it. He STOPS just short of the doorway, GLARING up at the taller teenager with ironclad hues of ice, fingers flexing, TEMPTED to the brutal intentions that he quickly SHOVES out from his mind. 

               “ Move. ”

It’s almost incomprehensible, more GROWL than word but it was a command nonetheless. At the same time, a TWISTED phrase, ONE final dare. He knows what Jerome’s like, what he won’t do and yet, he throws the bait AS IF he wanted the teen to PUSH him over that inevitable ledge.

ᴼᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᶦᶰᵒᶫᵉᵘᵐ ᶠᶫᵒᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᶜᵒᶫᵒʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʳᵉˢᵉᵐᵇᶫᵉˢ ᵇᵒᶰᵉ, ᵖᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᶦᶰ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᶜᵘᶠᶠˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵗᵃᶦᶰˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᵉʳ ᶦᵗ, ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵃᶦᶰᶦᶰᵍ ᵖᵒʳᵗᶦᵒᶰ ᵒᶠ ᵈᶦʳᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᶦᵗʸ ᶦˢᶰ'ᵗ ᶠᵘᶰᵈᵉᵈ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵉ⋅ ᴵᵗ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵐᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵘᵖ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʰᶦᵗᵉ ᵍᶫᵉᵃᵐ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵗᵉᵉᵗʰ, ˢᵉᵗ ᶦᶰ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵗʸ ʳᵒʷˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᶰ'ᵗ ˢʰᶦᶰᵉ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵐᶦᶫᵉˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵉᵉᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ʳᵃᵍᵉ⋅ ᴴᵉ'ˢ ᶰᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵉᵉᶰ ᶦᵗ, ᶰᵒᵗ ˢᶦᶰᶜᵉ ʰᵉ'ᵈ ʰᵃᶰᵈᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵘʳᵈᵉʳ ʷᵉᵃᵖᵒᶰ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ᵈᶦᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᶰᵗ ⁻⁻ ˢᵃᵗᶦˢᶠᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒᶰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦˢ ᶦᶰᵉᵛᶦᵗᵃᵇᶫᵉ ᶦᶰᶜᵃʳᶜᵉʳᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ⋅ ᴵᵗ'ᵈ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ˢᵃᵗᶦˢᶠʸᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵘˢᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ, ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵇᶫᵉ﹔ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᵃˢᵗ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ʰᵉ ˢᵃʷ ᵃᶰʸ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵉᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒᶰ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴶᶦᵐ ʷᵃˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵃᶰᵈˢ ᵃʳᵒᵘᶰᵈ ʰᶦˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵃᵗ ᵃᶰᵈ ʰᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵃᶫᵐᵒˢᵗ ʷᵃᶰᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᶫᵉᵗ ʰᶦᵐ ᶜᵒᶰᵗᶦᶰᵘᵉ, ʷᵃᵗᶜʰ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˢᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᶫᵃᵐᵉ⋅ ᴵᵗ’ˢ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ᵐᵘᵗᵉᵈ ᵘᶰᵗᶦᶫ ᶰᵒʷ, ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶠᶦᶰᵃᶫ ˢʰᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ’ˢ ᵖᵃʳᵗ, ᵃ ᶠʳᵃᵍᵐᵉᶰᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵗ⋅

                     ❝ᴼʰ ⁻⁻❞

ᴴᵉ ᶫᵒʷᵉʳˢ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᵈᵒʷᶰ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᶦᶰᶜʰᵉˢ ᵇʸ ᵇᵉᶰᵈᶦᶰᵍ ʰᶦˢ ᵏᶰᵉᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵉʸᵉ⁻ᶫᵉᵛᵉᶫ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒᶫᶦᶜᵉ ᵒᶠᶠᶦᶜᵉʳ, ᵃ ˢᵗʳᵃᶦᵍʰᵗ ˢʰᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵒᶰ’ᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰᶦᵐ ᵃ ˢᶫᵃᵖ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᶦˢᵗ ᶦᶠ ʰᵉ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᶦᵗ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶦᵗ’ᶫᶫ ᵇᵉ ᵃ ʳᵉᵐᶦᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵉᶰ ʰᵉ ᶫᵉᵗ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᶫᵒˢᵉ ᶜᵒᶰᵗʳᵒᶫ ⁻⁻ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵖᵃʳᵗ ᶦˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ’ᶫᶫ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵗᵃᶫʸˢᵗ⋅ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉˢ ᵃ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵒʷ ˢᶦᶰᶜᵉʳᶦᵗʸ,

                                             ❝ᴵˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃ ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵗ﹖❞

ᴬ ʷᵃʳ ʰᵉʳᵒ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵇᶫᵒᵒᵈ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵃᶰᵈˢ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ᶠᵒʳ, ʰᵉ ʷᵒᶰᵈᵉʳˢ ʰᵒʷ ᶫᵒᶰᵍ ʰᵉ’ˢ ˢᵖᵉᶰᵗ ᵍᵉᵗᵗᶦᶰᵍ ᶦᵗ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳ ʰᶦˢ ᶠᶦᶰᵍᵉʳᶰᵃᶦᶫˢ, ᵗʳʸᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵉᵗ ᵒᶰᶫʸ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶦᵗ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ⋅ ᴶᶦᵐᵐʸ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ʷᵃᶰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵈᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᶜᵒᵘᶰᵗ, ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᶠᶦˢᵗˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵇᶦᶫᶦᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵒʸ ᵃᶫᶫ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉᵐˢᵉᶫᵛᵉˢ ᵗᵉᶰˢᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ʳᵉᵃᵈʸ, ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃᶦᵗᶦᶰᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᶦᵐ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᶫᶦᶰᵉ ˢᵒ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ʰᵃˢ ᵃᶰ ᵉˣᶜᵘˢᵉ⋅ ˢᶦᶜᵏ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵗʷᶦˢᵗᵉᵈ ʳᵉᵛᵉᶰᵍᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʰᶦˢ ᵈᵉᵃʳᶫʸ ᵈᵉᵖᵃʳᵗᵉᵈ ˢᵃʳᵃʰ ᴱˢˢᵉᶰ, ᶰᵒ ᵈᵒᵘᵇᵗ, ᶦᶠ ʰᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᶫᵃᵐ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵉᵃᵈ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᶫᵒᵒʳ ᵒᶰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵃᶰʸ ᵗᶦᵐᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵍᶦᵛᵉ ʰᶦᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᶫᵃˢᵗ ᶫᵃᵘᵍʰ⋅

        ❝ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ʷᵃᶰᶰᵃ ʷᵒʳᵏ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵃᵗ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ᵈᵃᵈ ᶰᵒʷ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃᶫᶫ⋅❞

ᴺᵉʷˢ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉᶫˢ ᶠᵃˢᵗ ᶦᶰ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ’ˢ ᶰᵒᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᶫᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ, ʰᵉ ᵍʳᶦᵐᵃᶜᵉˢ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ, ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉ’ˢ ˢᵃᵗᶦˢᶠᶦᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ʰᵒʷ ᶦᵗ’ᶫᶫ ᵍᵉᵗ ʰᶦˢ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᶰᵗᶦᵒᶰ, ˢᵘʳᵉᶫʸ,         ❝ᶜᵒᶰᵍʳᵃᵗˢ, ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ﹗ ᴵ’ᵛᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵈ ᵃ ᶫᶦᵗᵗᶫᵉ ᵇᶫᵉᵃᶜʰ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᵉᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗʳᶦᶜᵏ⋅ ᵂᵉ’ᶫᶫ ˢᵉᵉ⋅❞

@knightlaws

I am a hacking cough That tickle in your throat I’m an unmade bed in Mexico You will catch my cough, you will catch my cold Hey, no one needs to know Just put it in your mouth No snail trails have blackened It’s like it never happened I won’t be henpecked There’s still so many left to infect I’ve done so many bad things I never seem to get clean No pecking order please I’ve done too many bad things Come get it help yourself Come see it for yourself We’re raising glasses high, dirty as all hell In sickness and health, in sickness and health So would you drink after me? I’ve been a good boy, I’m squeaky clean A pretty please in the motel and it’s snails without shells In sickness and health, in sickness and health So don’t be so alarmed You’re being harvested and farmed Every time I continue to breathe You wipe your nose on my sleeve Every time I don’t drive off a cliff Every time I don’t chop off my lips I’ll be taken to swallowing pennies For the apocalypse that’s surely coming Come get it, help yourself Come see it for yourself We’re shaking rubber gloves up to the shelves in hell In sickness and health, in sickness and health So would you sleep where I sleep? Here with the bed bugs and bad beliefs I don’t mean to make it seem Like we’re salmon upstream But are you afraid? Are you afraid of me? 

@knightlaws @theirstories

JEROME.

He can put the PIECES together, just from the BITS of distress that’s apparent in the WAY the boy sleeps. The torment of the miserable REALITY follows into Jerome’s dreams, TWISTING it into nightmares that aren’t MUCH different from the waking moments. The PAIN fills the room with a sound that ANGERS him. He knows EXACTLY who it was that TOOK their wrath and malice out on a boy who simply accepted the punishment. It’s a VULNERABILITY that he’ll take full advantage of, PREYING on every bit of hurt and neglect that haunts the abused and he’ll turn it into STRENGTH.

              The JUSTICE system he had so much FAITH in had only used him, abused him, and when he had needed them the most, they had abandoned him at Blackgate, left ALONE and surrounded, OUTNUMBERED by the pack of hyenas he’d caged himself. Individually, an aged LION could put them down until there wasn’t a single one of the BASTARDS left. But THEY had the advantage of NUMBERS. He’d been beaten to the ground, physically and mentally, to the point that EVERY DAY had been a losing battle. Bullock and Dent had tried everything they could but by the time Jim was FOUND innocent and released, he had come out a different man, having spent too much time in a place that BROKE him. He’d had pieced himself back together, renewed with a VENGEANCE and HATRED that was unbiased. He could SEE now, how corrupted BOTH law makers and law breakers were, every SINGLE one of them. THEY wouldn’t be able to help victims like Jerome…

                                    … but HE could.

He WANTS to help Jerome and his instincts can FEEL that the boy had the capability to LIBERATE himself. Jim just needed to open those eyes to see the LIGHT of the truth. A hand SETTLES on the kid’s shoulder, a gesture of comfort as he offers the mug. 

                  ❝ Not too much, ❞ he answers, jaw CLENCHING ever so slightly at the question. Jim wanted to help right now, to put a STOP to this HOPELESS life that Jerome was living… but he would need to LEARN and that would take time, a time WELL worth the wait.

ᴴᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢᶰ'ᵗ ʷᵃᶰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ, ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈᶰ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ⋅⋅⋅ ᵀʰᶦˢ⋅ ʸᵉᵗ, ʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵃᶦᶰˢ, ᶰᵉʳᵛᵒᵘˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵗʷᶦᵗᶜʰʸ ʷʰᶦᶫᵉ ᴶᶦᵐ ᵖᵘᵗˢ ᵃ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦᵐ ᶰᵒᵗ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ʰᵉ’ˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ᶠᵉᶫᵗ, ᵒᶰ ʰᶦˢ ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈᵉʳ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ʷᵉᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗᵒ ᶦᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵍʳᵒᵘᶰᵈˢ ʰᶦᵐ ⁻⁻ ᵖᶫᵉᵃˢᵃᶰᵗ ᵃᶰᵈ ʳᵉᵃˢˢᵘʳᶦᶰᵍ⋅ ᴬ ᵐᵘᵍ ʷᶦᵗʰ ˢᵗᵉᵃᵐ ˢʷᶦʳᶫᶦᶰᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵗᵒᵖ ᵒᶠ ᶦᵗ ᶦˢ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ʰᶦᵐ ᵍᵉᶰᵉʳᵒᵘˢᶫʸ, ᵃ ˢᵐᵃᶫᶫ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳ ˢᵗᵃᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵒᶰ ᵗᵒᵖ ᵒᶠ ᵃᶫᶫ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶦᵐᵐᵉᶰˢᵉ ʰᵒˢᵖᶦᵗᵃᶫᶦᵗʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵇᵉᵉᶰ ˢʰᵒʷᶰ⋅ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ᶦˢ ᶰᵒ ᵈᵒᵘᵇᵗ ᶦᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵐᶦᶰᵈ ᶦᶰ ʳᵉᵍᵃʳᵈˢ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶫᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᶰ’ˢ ᶦᶰᵗᵉᶰᵗᶦᵒᶰˢ⋅ ᴳᵒᵗʰᵃᵐ ᶦˢ ʳᶦᵈᵈᶫᵉᵈ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵖᵉᵒᵖᶫᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃᵈᵛᵃᶰᵗᵃᵍᵉ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᵗᶦᵐᶦᵈ ᵈᵉᵐᵉᵃᶰᵒʳ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵖʳᵉʸ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦᵐ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵛᵘᶫᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ⁻⁻ ᵇᵘᵗ ᶰᵒᵗ ᴶᶦᵐ, ᶰᵉᵛᵉʳ⋅

ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ ᶦᵗ, ᶜᶫᵃˢᵖᶦᶰᵍ ᶦᵗ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ᵗʷᵒ ᵘᶰˢᵗᵉᵃᵈʸ ʰᵃᶰᵈˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᶠᵉᵃʳˢ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵍᶦᵛᵉ ᵘᵖ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᵍʳᶦᵖ ᶦᶠ ʰᵉ ᵈᵒᵉˢᶰ’ᵗ ᵖᵃʸ ᶜᶫᵒˢᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᶰᵗᶦᵒᶰ, ᵖᵃʳᵗᶦᵃᶫᶫʸ ᵈᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵏᶦᶰᵉˢˢ ˢᵗᶦᶫᶫ ᶫᶦᶰᵍᵉʳᶦᶰᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶦˢ ᵐᶦᶰᵈ ᵗᵒʳᵐᵉᶰᵗᶦᶰᵍ ʰᶦᵐ⋅ ᴵᵗ’ᶫᶫ ˢᵉᵗᵗᶫᵉ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵃ ʰᵘᵐ ᵒᶠ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵈ ˢᵒᵒᶰ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ, ʳᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᶦᵍʰ⁻ᵖᶦᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵘᶰʳᵉᶫᵉᶰᵗᶦᶰᵍ ᵖᵃᶰᶦᶜ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵈᵉᶫᶦᵛᵉʳˢ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉᵍᶦᶰᶰᶦᶰᵍ⋅ ᵀʰᵉˢᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᶰᶦᵍʰᵗᵐᵃʳᵉˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ʰᵃˢ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵉᵛᵉᶰᵗᵘᵃᶫᶫʸ ⁻⁻ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒᵒᵍᵉʸᵐᵃᶰ, ᶰᵒᵗ ᶜᶫᵒʷᶰˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃʸ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵘᶫᵗᵉʳᶦᵒʳ ᵐᵒᵗᶦᵛᵉˢ, ᶰᵒᵗ ᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵉᵃʳ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉᶦᵍʰᵗˢ ⁻⁻ ᵗʰᵉʸ’ʳᵉ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵒᵐᵉ, ʰᶦˢ ᶫᶦᶠᵉ, ʰᶦˢ ᶠᵃᵐᶦᶫʸ⋅

“ᴺᵒᵗ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵘᶜʰ” ᶦˢᶰ’ᵗ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ʰᶦᵐ ᶠᵉᵉᶫ ᵃᶰʸ ᶫᵉˢˢ ᵇᵃᵈ, ʰᵉ ˢᵗᶦᶫᶫ ʷᵃᶰᵗˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵘʳᶫ ʰᶦᵐˢᵉᶫᶠ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒᶦˢᵒᶰᵒᵘˢ ᵖᶫᵃᶜᵉ ᵗʰᶦᶰᶫʸ ʷʳᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᶦᶰ ˢʰᵉᵉᵗ ᵐᵉᵗᵃᶫ, ᶦᵗ ᵃᶫᵐᵒˢᵗ ᶦˢ ᵉᶰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ʰᶦᵐ ᶠᵉᵉᶫ ᵃˢ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ʰᵉ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉˢ ᶦᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉᶦᶰᵍ ˢᵘᶜʰ ᵃ ᵇᵘʳᵈᵉᶰ⋅ ᴬᶫᶫ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ᶰᵉᶦᵍʰᵇᵒʳˢ ᵐᶦᵍʰᵗ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵃˢᵏᶦᶰᵍ ᑫᵘᵉˢᵗᶦᵒᶰˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʷʰᵒ ʰᵉ ᶦˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ʷʰʸ ʰᵉ ˢʰᵒʷˢ ᵘᵖ ᵒᶰ ʰᶦˢ ᵈᵒᵒʳˢᵗᵉᵖ ᵃᵗ ᵒᵈᵈ ʰᵒᵘʳˢ ᶦᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᶦᵍʰᵗ, ᶫᶦᵏᵉᶫʸ ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵃʳᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᶰᵒ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ⋅

“ᵀʰᵃᶰᵏ ʸᵒᵘ⋅” ʰᵉ ˢᵃʸˢ, ʳᵃᶦˢᶦᶰᵍ ᶦᵗ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ʰᶦˢ ᶫᶦᵖˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵗᵃᵏᶦᶰᵍ ᵃ ᵍᵉᶰᵉʳᵒᵘˢ ᵈʳᶦᶰᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵘᵍ, ᵗʳᵘᶫʸ ᵇᵉᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵃᵏᵉᶰ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵇʸ ʰᵒʷ ᶫᵒᶰᵍ ᶦᵗ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉ ˢᶦᶰᶜᵉ ʰᵉ’ˢ ʰᵃᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ʷᵃʳᵐ ᵍᵒ ᶦᶰᵗᵒ ʰᶦˢ ˢᵗᵒᵐᵃᶜʰ, ʰᶦˢ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵍᵒᶦᶰᵍ ᶜᶫᵒˢᵉᵈ ʷʰᵉᶰ ʰᵉ ᵗᶦᵖˢ ᶦᵗ ᶠᵘʳᵗʰᵉʳ ᵘᵖ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢʷᵃᶫᶫᵒʷˢ ᵈᵒʷᶰ ᵐᵒʳᵉ⋅ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᵉᵉ ᶦˢᶰ’ᵗ ᵃ ᵗʰᶦᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᶜᵃᶰ ᵃᶠᶠᵒʳᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵗᵒᵒ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗᵉᵃᶫ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵒᶜᵉʳʸ ˢᵗᵒʳᵉ ⁻⁻ ᵐᵘᶜʰ ᶫᵉˢˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶜʰᶦᶰᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᶦᵗ ⁻⁻ ˢᵒ, ʰᵉ ᶦˢᶰ’ᵗ ᵉᶰᵗᶦʳᵉᶫʸ ᵃᶜᶜᵘˢᵗᵒᵐᵉᵈ⋅ ᴸᵉᵃᶰᶦᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵒᶰᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᶠᶠᵉᵉ ᵗᵃᵇᶫᵉ, ʰᵉ ʷᶦᵖᵉˢ ʰᶦˢ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵒᶠ ʰᶦˢ ʰᵃᶰᵈ, “ᴵ ʳᵉᵃᶫᶫʸ ˢʰᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵍᵉᵗᵗᶦᶰᵍ ʰᵒᵐᵉ, ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵃʳ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ʷᵃᶫᵏ ᵃᶰᵈ⋅⋅ ᴵ’ᵐ ˢᵘʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ’ʳᵉ ᵇᵘˢʸ⋅”

                                     ᴵᶰᵈᵉᵖᵉᶰᵈᵉᶰᵗ ᴶᵉʳᵒᵐᵉ ⱽᵃᶫᵉˢᵏᵃ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᴳᵒᵗʰᵃᵐ

                                                                ᴾᵒʳᵗʳᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᴶᵃᶜᵏ

                                    ᴾʳᶦᵛᵃᵗᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵉᶫᵉᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ

                                                      ᴹᵘᶫᵗᶦ⁻ⱽᵉʳˢᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᴹᵘᶫᵗᶦ⁻ˢʰᶦᵖ