Flytrap | WATTYS 2022 SHORTLIST

2 | Weed

Bruce Wayne Finally Speaks.

The headline was simple enough. But for some reason, Barbara struggled to comprehend the title, no matter how many times her bleary eyes stared at it. Her mind was elsewhere, drifting back to this morning when her father had left for work. Having expected Pamela to accompany her to the clinic, Barbara was pleasantly surprised to find the door to—thankfully—her own room closed. The woman was still asleep. And Barbara didn't need someone that badly to come with her. But now, alone in this bright fluorescent room, Barbara wondered if she should've taken Pamela with her. Was no company really better than bad company? Even if said company was as miserable as they came?

"Barbara Gordon?" A nurse with two blonde pigtails appeared in the doorway, holding a clipboard. "We got a Barbara Gordon here?" she asked in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

"Over here." Barbara raised her hand before starting to wheel herself over to the door.

"Hmm." The nurse glanced her over with a frown. "Follow me."

Once Barbara had passed, the nurse let the door close with a slam. "So what brings you here today?" She didn't so much as look at Barbara as she skipped down the long, empty hallway.

"Um, I have a checkup with Dr. Elliot," Barbara answered, struggling to keep up with the nurse.

The nurse looked over her shoulder and pointed to Barbara's immobile legs. "For your... that?"

Barbara gritted her teeth. "Yes."

The nurse nodded, snapping the gum Barbara didn't realize she had in her mouth. "Dr. Elliot will be with you shortly. You can wait in here." She gestured to the empty room in front of them.

Barbara rolled into the room and closed the door right in the nurse's face. "Finally." She breathed a sigh of relief. If she never saw that nurse again, it would be too soon.

With nothing else to do, Barbara glanced around at the various posters plastered on the otherwise bare white walls. One of them showed a person with red and blue lines running through their skinned body. Another was of someone's spinal cord and all the nerve functions that went with it. As she studied them, she realized these posters had been the first signs of color she had seen while in the clinic.

A sudden knock at the door made Barbara's head snap upright, and she turned it just in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white coat step inside.

"Hello," he greeted in a deep voice. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Barbara. Your father has told me so much about you." He stuck his beefy hand out for her to shake.

"All good things I hope." She gave a nervous chuckle as she shook his hand. Just how many people had her father talked to about her?

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Please accept my sincerest apologies for what happened." He frowned. "These drunk drivers—They're out of control. And it's only going to get worse if the law doesn't start holding them accountable."

Barbara glanced down at her hands and nodded. "Yeah."

"Your father told me how the—pardon my French—asshole only got a fine and some community service." Dr. Elliot shook his head. "What a joke."

"So..." Barbara decided to change the subject before the doctor could continue his lament. "Am I going to start therapy today?"

It was as if Dr. Elliot remembered he was, in fact, a doctor, and switched back to his professional self in an instant. "Oh no. Today is just a checkup to see how often you'll need therapy. Tell me, Barbara. Are you in any pain?"