Beast Boy Monologue

"Fate has a plan for us all…"

Long have I wondered about the hand fate plays in guiding our lives—in leading us down a given path. Are we merely pawns in a greater game? Do we have the power—albeit unknown to us—to forge our own destiny? Or does the truth of it all lay somewhere in between, amidst the grey? I do not know, nor will I ever. I—like everyone else—can only theorize; my notions grounded in uncertainty and conjecture. All I know—all I can know—are facts; truths as clear and incontrovertible as the stars…

It all began with an end: Beast Boy's death. News of it spread far and wide: through Jump City, the nation, and the world. Heroes from around the globe flocked to Jump to pay their respects, the city was shut down for three days

It had been almost a year since Beast Boy's death and the Tower still seemed hollow and barren—four walls and nothing more. She told us all over dinner one night: She was going back to Tamaran to take her place on the throne. The next morning, she said goodbye to each of us and left. Her heart was broken; she had lost a friend in Beast Boy and a lover in Robin. There was simply nothing left for her here. Destiny called. The adoration of her people awaited. For the first time in a long time, she was happy again.

Not too long after, Robin left. He simply packed his bags in the middle of the night and rode away on the R-Cycle. He never said goodbye. I think it was too hard for him. He couldn't look me in the eye and Cyborg—while maintaining civility—clearly did not trust him, nor did he forgive him for the death of his best friend.

Robin moved to the East Coast—New York City—and took up the Nightwing mantle. Though it was a new beginning –a new chapter—for him, it is clear that the sins of his past haunt him

With a sigh, I wipe away my tears and stand, knowing a new day—like an unwelcome intrusion—awaits me. As I begin to walk away, a rush of fear rises within me. My heart races and my stomach flutters uneasily. A bitter gust of air nips at my skin, entreating me to pull my cloak more tightly around my body. Slowly, I turn around, and gaze at his bronzed likeness glowing ethereally in the early morning light—novena candles flitting, casting dancing silhouettes. As I look upon him, I can only wonder—with a degree of dread—what the future holds: How many more listless days must I endure? How many endless nights? They slip into weeks…months…years… How long will I be deprived the love I barely began to