Coming Clean

Here’s another ‘Meeting God’ fic. This time, it’s Jason Todd, aka the Red Hood.
I hope I did the character (and the Creator) justice.
…I also don’t really like the title of this one.

Jason heads to the edges of the All Caste buildings. He sits and stews, thinking about what Ducra keeps telling him; to drop his fiery anger for what Joker did and for what Bruce could not do.

His training has kept his skills up, so he’s surprised when he didn’t hear a person walk up to him.


He turns, taking out the All Blades. He stares down the old man in simple robes. Jason doesn’t move, assessing the potential opponent. “Who are you? You are not part of the All Caste. I have met all of the monks here.”

“I am not the All Caste, no,” the old man states, “but you know me, Jason.”

“I have never met you before.”

The man walks to the ledge Jason was sitting on. He sits down slowly, placing his cane on the ground next to him. “Sit, please.”

Jason doesn’t move to sit, but calls his blades to disappear.

“Jason, you will only see this sunset once,” the man assures.

Jason looks out at the horizon. The red, orange, and pink swirls with wisps of clouds. He then sits a few feet away from the man, leaning his back against a decorative slab on the edge of the nearest building. “I haven’t usually looked at sunsets.”

“Why not?” The old man smiles, “They are lovely.”

“…I’m not used to them. Bad memories.”

“Not many sunsets in the Gotham streets,” the old man comments sadly.

“…You know I’m from Gotham,” Jason says, his hand inching to a knife he keeps on his leg.

“I know a lot of things,” the man states. “I also know that there are a multitude of differences between a sunset and an explosion.”

Jason’s fingers grip the knife handle. “You know I died.”

“Many have,” the man states. Jason detects obvious sadness. “But few ever come back.”

“Pfft, yeah…” Jason lets go of the knife and crosses his arms. “Lucky me…”

“Are you not happy that you are alive?”

“Not everyone wants to live,” Jason mumbles, “it’s not a happy thought, but… I didn’t have a happy life.”

“It wasn’t completely bad,” the man states.

“You didn’t have to live it,” Jason sneers.

“You helped lots of people.”

“And still many more have yet to pay for their crimes.”

“Even after growing up in Gotham, you still have a kind heart, Jason.”

“I doubt the world shares your opinion.”


Jason watches the man as he quietly marvels at the sunset. “…What do you want?”

“Want?” The man asks, “I want to sit here. With you.”


The old man looks at Jason. “I thought you’d like some answers.”

“Answers,” Jason scoffs.

“Well, go on. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

Jason looks out at the sunset, not really watching it. He smirks, then looks at the man, “How did I come back to life?”

The old man nods slowly, “That’s a very good question.”

“Talia found me wandering, dropped me in the pit to heal me, but no one knows how I came back to life in the first place.” Jason crosses his arms smugly, the smirk still present. “So tell me, old man, how did I come back to life?”

“…Because you still had much to do on Earth.”

“…That’s not an answer of ‘how.’ That’s if I asked ‘why’,” Jason says.

“I don’t see them as different questions.”

“Really?” Jason scoffs.

“The how ties into the why. Why did you come back? Because you had more to do. How did you come back? Because the person who can defy death knew you had more to do.”

“Who is this? Ra’s?”

“No. He has cheated death, perhaps. But he has never died and risen again, of his own accord.”

“Then who?”

The man looks at Jason again. “Who?” He smiles, “I think you know who, Jason.”

Jason looks at him, then snorts, “Wait, wait, so you’re saying that there’s a Creator, that somehow believes that I’m that important? That I have something more I need to do?”

“No,” the man turns to the sunset again, just as the sun’s edge disappears, “I am telling you that I know you are that important. You always have been. After all…” the man chuckles, then looks at Jason with fondness, “I did create you.”

Jason stands up, “I’m done.” He starts to walk away.

“Jason, what did you experience when you died?”

“A lot of heat,” Jason snarks.

“It was empty, wasn’t it?”

Jason stops walking.

“You couldn’t move, or breathe. You couldn’t use your senses?”


“Jason.” The man was standing, and walks over to Jason, “when you die again, on this path your cutting for yourself, that is where you will be again.”

Jason stares, trying to keep the fear off his face, “So what? I’m supposed to follow you? Listen to you? I already have teachers that give me cryptic life lessons, I don’t need another. But I’ll make sure this second life is put to good use.”

Jason then leaves the man there. The man sighs, then looks out at the stars amidst the inky black sky.

Jason sets his helmet down in his safe house. He takes care of a couple wounds he has, then looks out the bullet proof glass window. Gotham is beautiful, but disease ridden. Jason believed he was the cure. It’s been a few years since he came back, caused trouble with Joker and Batman, then disappeared so he ‘family’ wouldn’t find him.

Tim has called him some, Dick’s insisted they meet up to talk. Jason has yet to. He doesn’t know what he’ll do about his family. Bruce hasn’t tried to reach out since Jason held him at gunpoint, ordering him to kill Joker to prove he cares.

He turns from his city and switches on the radio. He takes off his armor and showers. As he’s preparing a lunch, the radio goes through an ad before changing songs.

Suddenly, a song comes on that doesn’t fit the radio stations genre. ‘Fear is a Liar’ plays softly. Jason turns to the radio to turn it off, but then stops as the chorus starts.

He sits down at the bed and listens. The song’s second verse hits him hard. He wipes a tear from his eye deciding to turn it off, until “that grace could never change” touched his ears.

He sits back, remembering that evening when someone claiming to be God talked to him. He wants to brush off the coincidence that this song just played here. But…

He walks to the glass doors leading to his shielded balcony. He leans against the railing, watching the sunrise over the city skyline.

“Are you… Are you still up to talking?” He asks the air.

Nothing but the wind replies him. It brushes his cheek and ruffles his hair a little. He sighs, looking at the street below him.

‘I knew it.’

“Impatient as ever.”

Jason turns to his left. The man is standing there. Jason notes that he doesn’t look that same. Before, he was an weathered man with a cane. Now, he stands tall and looks younger. But Jason knows, he can just sense, that this is the same person as before.

The man turns from the sunrise, smiling, “Where would you like to start, Jason?”


Writer’s Oath for Him (Poem)

I am not just a writer…

I am a hero who knows all is lost but tries anyway.

I am a villain who has a past all my own,

And in my mind, I am good.

I am a romantic, who would climb mountains

And cross seas for that special someone.


I am a:

Queen and peasant

Knight and slave

Space explorer and alien

Mutant and its maker

Detective and the criminal

I am all these things and more,

Not just simply a writer.


I do not just write…

I walk through worlds you’ve never seen.

I speak languages you’ve never heard.

I mix together colors you can’t describe.

I hear the words of a thousand tongues.

of people you’ll never meet.


Unless, of course, you read my stories.

So I do not simply write.


I am all these things,

I do all these things,

For the One who created me.

He doesn’t see that all is lost,

But knows how it is won.

He has a past of his own

That stretches passed the beginning of time,

And is the definition of good.

He doesn’t climb the mountain,

Or cross the sea,

But moves it and parts it.


He is the:

King of kings who became a peasant

Savior who died a slave

Creator of the universe, but is treated as foreign

Potter who shaped the clay

The perfect solution, given a criminal’s punishment.


He is not simple.

He’s far more.

He is the One

Who created

the world.

And penned our stories.

He is the Author of all,

And I write for Him.

People (Poem)

There are scores people

who you will never meet.


There are many people

that you’ll never understand.


There are a lot of people

that you have called either friend

or family.


And there are a few people

you may even truly dislike.


But there are those people,

or that person

that puts a smile on your face

and a fire in your heart.

And you know what?


They weren’t even trying.

Silver Tongued Trickster (Poem)

I wrote this before Infinity War came out, in case you were wondering. This is a poem about Loki.

I know I shouldn’t trust him and his lies,

Yet every new day I feel like a fool

As his silver tongue weaves a thick disguise.


He gives me attention with his green eyes,

Holds me safe with strong arms that make me drool.

I know I shouldn’t trust him and his lies.


I can’t see the future plans he can devise,

But I do feel like his personal tool

As his silver tongue weaves a thick disguise.


He conjures beautiful and rich surprises

As around my neck and arms are jewels.

I know I shouldn’t trust him and his lies.


His voice is smooth and cold when he replies

to my accusations of how he’s so cruel.

And his silver tongue weaves a thick disguise.


I’m sick of feeling like his precious prize.

My life was always mine, not his, to rule.

I know I shouldn’t trust him and his lies,

He won’t weave a thick enough disguise.

Heroes’ Inner Struggle (Poem)

Heroes are placed on pedestals, with

Expectations heaped up for one and all.

They save the world, strong and lithe,

No one ever assumes a hero to feel small.


But some do judge them, instead of praise,

And in opposition to their victory,

The heroes are blamed for those they couldn’t save.

Their reputations become contradictory.


Living in the spotlight, heroes cannot

Be weak. But what civilians don’t see

Is how heroes are people, and don’t act a lot

Different when feeling less than they could be.


Heroes do the best they can, but no one

Else will wonder when their job will be done.

Promise of God (Poem)

To feel the world collapse inside,

Is much for one to bear alone.

A flame goes out when it’s small, but

My hand will shield you like a stone.


Your heavy weight brings you down, and

causes you to stumble. Your hands

Bruise and scrape, but trust in me. As

The twister rages, my presence stands.


The trails down your cheeks aren’t weakness,

You’re not broken when your voice shakes.

Even when the color is gone,

Just sit with me, the sunrise awaits.


Life is not over and the world

Spins on. And though you want to

Scream at me, though you want me

Gone, I tell you this; I love you.