Gotham City, November the 15th
“Hahahaha! Eat it, suckers!”
The playground doors opened, and a bunch of middle school students ran out into the winter snow. Frigid temperatures and icy precipitation had come early to Gotham, dusting the usually dreary city in a covering of white fluff. For a time, the grit and filth of Gotham was buried. The pupils of St. Joseph the Apostle didn’t much care about anything but the snow. Recess was a chance to burn off scholastic boredom in a flurry of snow angels, snow men, and winter frivolity. Except today, a few high school students had remained outside during a free period following lunch.
Among the school’s bullies, they had carefully planned their afternoon torment of the smaller kids. They had built a wall of snow across the playground doors. Stockpiling snowballs, into which they had placed shards of ice, they lay in wait. The minute the recess bells rang, shrill in chill air, they armed themselves. Seconds later, the doors opened and kids ran out, expecting fun.
The first few, instead, got pelted. A snowball caught a girl in the eye. She stumbled and slipped on the ice, moaning. Two missiles of snow smacked into a young boy’s face. He screamed, and wiped away snow and blood. The ice inside the snowballs had cut into his face. A few more students ducked and weaved, but were assailed all the same. By now the front running children had scrambled to a stop, forcing the ones behind to run into them. The first wave of students tried to turn and run back into the school but were barred by those behind.
“I am Mr. Freeze!” shouted one of the bullies, standing up from behind the snow wall. He was unidentifiable behind ski goggles and a heavy white parka. “Die, sissies!” He threw more snowballs, most with cruelly accurate aim. He laughed as each snow bomb struck another small kid, forcing a whimper, a wail, or a shout of rage. His cohorts lay in the snow, mostly watching their leader, and lobbing the occasional snowball.
Seemingly from nowhere, a dark figure tore through the crowd and leapt across the snow wall. A blur of action, his long black coat swept behind his furious motion like a gigantic cape. Arms that ended in thick, black leather gloves were clenched into hard fists.
“Fuck you, Freeze!” The specter growled. A flying kick caught one bully in the chin. Kneeling in the ground, he spun and threw a punch into another antagonist’s groin, followed swiftly by a jab to the solar plexus. The boy crumpled into a whimpering ball. Standing up, the fighter faced the kid calling himself Freeze.
“Run!” The kid in black snarled at the kid in white.
“Not a chance, Wayne. Come and get it.” Freeze put up his hands in a mock boxer stance.
Bruce Wayne closed the gap in seconds. His fists blurred as he pummeled Freeze. The kid’s ski goggles cracked, and then were torn from his face. Soon bright red blood spurted from his nose, trickled from his lip, and gushed from a cut above his eye. He went down into the snow. Bruce didn’t let up. He slammed his knee into Freeze’s gut, and continued to smash him in the face. Freeze’s blood smeared across his leather gloves.
Fortunately for Freeze, teachers alerted by the middle school kids had pushed their way through the crowd. They rushed toward the fighting boys, and hauled Bruce away from Freeze.
“Bruce! Stop!” Two of them had to restrain the flailing Wayne. Three more knelt down over Freeze. “Better call an ambulance. This kid’s gonna need stitches.”
Twenty minutes later, Bruce Wayne was standing on the school steps, hunched in his black coat against the winter wind. A large Bentley turned into the school parking lot and pulled up to the front door. Bruce waited for a few seconds, but it soon became obvious that he had to let himself into the car. He walked down the steps and yanked open the back seat door. Swiftly he got in and slammed the door. He didn’t look up to see Alfred Pennyworth’s stern glare in the rearview mirror.
“Early release today, Master Wayne?” Somehow the old butler managed to make the casual observation into a sarcastic joke. Obviously he knew that his charge had been expelled for bad behavior.
“Yeah, snow day, Alfred.” Bruce still didn’t look up. After a few moments silence, during which the car remained motionless, Bruce looked up. His eyes met those of his butler’s. Alfred always appeared refined and gentle, but today there was a fire smoldering behind those eyes.
“You’re better than this, Master Wayne. Your father would be ashamed to have his son expelled for brawling.”
“I had to do something, Alfred. There were bullies -”
“There will always be bullies, Master Wayne. The trick is to stop them without being a bully yourself. Today you were no better than he was.”
Alfred turned back to the steering wheel. His foot pressed the accelerator, and the Bentley crunched snow and sidewalk salt as it pulled away from the school.
Bruce hung his head in shame. He’d beaten Freeze, but had lost the battle.
a simple man 