Help, I'm Alive

Mislike me not for my complexion ~ THE MERCHANT OF VENICE: ACT I: SCENE I

I suppose every person already has a specific image or idea of what death is like – maybe even a belief of what happens after death. Of what I can recollect, I had no idea. I don’t remember ever thinking of death so seriously before. At a young age it shouldn’t really be a major concern. I guess the younger generation take for granted what they have – life is wasted on the young.

Even though I had no real expectations, I’d have thought the afterlife would have been a little more pleasant than this. I felt clammy, cold – the coldness exacerbated by a certain dampness in the air. I heard the muffled voices of others distant from me; were they fellow spirits of the recently deceased? Angels? Lost souls? I had no idea.

An unpleasant wave of nausea washed over me as the consideration of being dead became apparent, suddenly. Dazed and confused, I feebly pushed myself up to examine my surroundings. I could not decipher whether or not my eyes were still shut or if the environment was too dark for me to see anything. Either way, the nausea turned to panic. The fear of the unknown is a common phobia in many. During my psychiatric days I had learned to face this fear. The unknown just represented a personal, more logical fear – apparent or suppressed. But since my psychiatric days were over, I had become a little rusty in handling situations as severe as these.

The black abyss almost totally ensured me that I was dead. This darkness was death. I was to forever linger in this emptiness. These thoughts shattered when a fit inducing flicker of a light caused me to squeeze my eyes shut. I could not face the blinding lights. My eyes fluttered unintentionally in order to adjust to the lighting. The fluttering enabled me to see flashes of large, human figure standing before me. Helplessly, I whimpered still not having full control over my eyesight – or my entire body, in general. I shuffled backwards, weakly, on what I now discovered to be a bed.

“You have no reason to be afraid,” a low voice boomed coming from the direction of the silhouette.

I could not reply. My hyperventilating had taken all of my breath. The hyperventilating worsened when footsteps were heard and the figure approached closer. My eyes had begun to adjust and now his bulky appearance was clear. Forgive me if I’m wrong – maybe my eyes hadn’t fully adjusted and my sight was still slightly blurred – but his complexion had to be one of the most distorted I’d seen. Against his dark skin tone I could see a flaky texture. Almost scale like. It was most obviously a skin condition, but I daren’t question it in a predicament where it would be inappropriate, such as this. His eyes also had questionable yellow tint in them and his teeth looked unnaturally sharp and jagged.

My knees were tucked up to my chest once I had managed to shuffle all the way to the corner of the bed, trying to get as far away from this stranger as possible. Finally finding my voice amidst the silence, I spoke up, “What do you want from me?” It was barely a whisper. The icy water I had been in had given me a chest infection and the sniffles. It was bound to happen in weather like this.

This strangers figure towered over mine, casting a shadow over me. His whole presence was intimidating. I somewhat dreaded the answer of my question, fearing something barbaric would escape his lips.

“Do you know how you ended up here?”

“I don’t even know where I am. Who are you and what do you want?”

He paused, taking a moment to acknowledge my panicked state. “I found you washed up on Gotham’s lake. How you got there, you’ll have to figure out yourself. Morbid curiosity forced me to examine your body more closely. After seeing your face, I immediately recognised you as Harley Quinn; I’ve seen your face being featured on the front of Gotham Times quite often. You were usually alongside the criminal mastermind, Joker.”

“I’d hardly refer to him as a mastermind.”

“Oh, I agree. I’ve never carried a particular interest in any of Joker’s plots. His ways of chaos and criminal activity, in general, are far too unorganised and reckless. He is very much like a mad dog. I’m more of a reptile enthusiast, personally.” His last statement instinctively made me examine his scale like skin texture more thorough with uncertainty. My questionable gaze had obviously caught his attention. He let out a quiet chuckle. “I go by the name Killer Croc. I’m assuming you already have an idea why.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” I apologised profusely. “It’s really none of my business, but I was just curious. It’s very rare to see a skin condition as severe and unusual as this – and I have a medical degree.”

“No need to apologise, Miss Quinn. A mere glance at my distorted complexion is not going to offend me. I’ve had far worse happen to me to let a wandering eye get to me. And your curiosity is perfectly fine. I’m sure you do have a lot of questions, which I am willing to answer. Unfortunately, I was born with a rare form of atavism, cursing me with traits and physical characteristics of that of a reptile. But mislike me not for my complexion; I am still human just like you.”

“Well, I’m sorry for your condition. I can’t begin to imagine the emotional pain you must have been through in the past from the burdens of a cruel world.”

“It’s all water under the bridge, now.”

“Speaking of which, you still haven’t answered my question. Where are we? After you found me washed up, something must have provoked you to take me with you,” I questioned, confused.

“Right now, you’re in an underground sewer. Not the most pleasant of hideouts, but a hideout nonetheless.”

“You say, ‘hideout’. What do you mean exactly?”

“There’s a reason you’ve never heard of me before. My hideout is the humble abode to the most discrete of criminals. I am the crime kingpin of this underground mob and we work behind scenes, laying low in Gotham’s underbelly, where criminal activity is most common. Also, with the help of eccentric criminals like yourself and Joker, the majority of Gotham’s attention is focused mainly on you, distracting it away from our much wanted discretion. The reason I brought you here was simply for good deed purposes. I recognised you and seeing you in a helpless time of need, figured it was my gentleman duty to revive you. How you managed to survive those icy rapids and jagged rocks is still beyond me.”

“I assure you, if it wasn’t for your help, I wouldn’t have survived. So, thank you. I really owe you one.”

“Now, I hope you don’t mind my questioning and my frankness, but may I ask how you ended up half dead, washed up along Gotham’s great lake?” I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. He had every right to ask me, considering I had asked him many, but I was in no state to answer that dreaded question. I was in no position to talk about what had happened.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really feel like talking about it. I understand your concern, but it’s something that I find difficult to talk about at this moment in time. Maybe later – when we get to know each other better?”

“No, no. I’m the one that should be sorry. I have no right to pry into your business, like that. So forgive me. I realise that you probably want some time to rest and recover from this difficult state. I know it isn’t to a high standard, but you’re welcome to rest here for as long as you want. I should leave you alone, for now. I need to take care of errands. While I’m gone, make sure you get some rest. Farewell, Miss Quinn.”

He nodded casually before leaving me alone in the dank, stone room. It resembled a prison cell. Even the bed held the same qualities as a prison bed. There was nothing else in the cold room asides from a pile of rubble and scrap in the corner. It was a lonely room and as kind as it was for Croc to allow me to stay in hideout for a much needed rest, I wondered if this was a fate worse than death.