The Meanings of Lost

Chapter 1

Bruce:

It seems she did not hit me very hard. As I came back to the world, I could see her in her red sweater, running away. I pull myself up off the ground and stumble as I try to regain my balance.

Do I go after her? Do I wait for Diana? The girl didn't seem to know her, but I would never know for sure.

I start to walk. One foot in front of the other. One two, one two. Faster, faster, until I'm beginning to tire. I've trained for hours on end being Batman, so I can say professionally that she is fast. Demi-God fast? It's hard to tell. She's small enough to dart through the crowds with a grace and balance a full-sized man like me cannot muster.

My shoulder collides hard with a civilian and a throbbing pain goes through my shoulder.

"Bruce?" It's Diana.

"Diana!" I exclaim. "Diana, do you have a daughter."

"No," her face twists with surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"That girl there," I explain,"I swear she looks just like you, but with the eyes of one of those men from the photograph." Her face stares back at me blank for a moment, before turning to concern.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asks. "There's blood on your head."

"That girl hit me over the head with her book!" I exclaim. She wasn't getting it. It was maddening. How couldn't they be related? "Just follow me," I beg, before dashing off. A few seconds later, I hear her heels click as she begins to follow me.

"You're insane, Wayne," she mutters as she passes me.

Diana:

I soon see the red-sweater girl. She was walking along the sidewalk, nose in a book. Probably the same one Bruce claims she hit him with. I tail her down a few streets before she slips into a ballet school. Large banners cover the ancient building, advertising the production of The Nutcracker that will be starting mid-November. 

I follow her inside and no one seems to notice. She darts around large men looking professional and slim dancers stretching and warming up for their second round of auditions. She scurries behind the stage, into the wings then into a girl's changing room. I keep hidden in the shadows as I sneak in.

"Ambrosine!" someone exclaims. I hide behind a wall. "Did you hear." Her voice lowers to a whisper. "They aren't running auditions for Clara anymore."

"What?" asks Ambrosine. "Why?"

"Stacy McCafferty," says a voice in disgust. "Last night, they held a private audition for her and she got the part! My eye! Her dad bought her in."

"We don't know that for sure Jocelyn." She doesn't sound very sure. "Are they going to make her do the choreography for Clara today?"

"Yes, but what does that have to with anything?"

"Well, my little one-"

"I'm older than you-"

"Whatever, Jocelyn. As I was saying, McCafferty was dancing alone in her audition. No one was there to make her look good or bad. All we have to do is be better than her, make her look bad. Then it won't matter how much her father pays. Nutcracker is a classic, and they won't ruin it for money. The studio would lose the production, and it will go somewhere or to someone else next year."

"You're smart, Rosefsky." 

"Of course I am. Now, Clemens, help me with my bun if you please." A few minutes later both girls scurry past me, numbers pinned to their black leotards.

I still haven't seen her face, the thing Bruce wants me to do. I don't have a child though, I know that for a fact. What I do want to know is why she hit him over the head, and if he deserved it. Mayhap he does if he got close enough for her to hit him. The girl, Ambrosine, must be quite strong. If this weren't a dance audition, I might have possibly thought it could make her a demi-god, but the sport explained her strength. Plus, she used a book. Those can pack a punch. Besides the Greek name, I do not see any connection between myself and the stranger.

I walk back out of the audition hall and Bruce is waiting for me.

"See what I mean?" he asks me.

"No," I reply. "I didn't see her face, and I think I would know if I had a kid."

"Diana, I know what I saw!" Why is he so insistent?

"And I know my life, just leave it alone. Please." I add, in an attempt not to sound too harsh. "You're hurt. Let's get you patched up then talk about this later."

~~~~~~~

Hi everyone, if you're reading this, you're WONDERful. I plan on making all my chapters around 800 words or more in the future (even though the Prelude is much shorter). Please vote, share, and comment if you enjoyed this chapter. It means a lot and is a terrific motivator. And please add some suggestions for future chapters if you have any! Who knows when I might need your epic idea. Have a great day. 

~Beneath_the_Willows