Bruce squinted into the middle distance as night took over from day. Good vs evil, or evil vs good? Even after all these years he couldn’t be sure. He mock-saluted the colony of yuma myotis emerging from the cave to hunt over the Manor’s artificial lake; called out, “Even with your help, I never did finish the job.”
He thought he saw movement on the island. “Looks like a penguin. Just like a penguin. Holy mirage, can’t be.”
He shivered in the night chill, pulled the blanket tighter around his knees, sat up straighter in the batchair. Called for Alfred.
This in response to the 100 word challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.