FOREVER AUTUMN

A rather silly introduction of two superheroes and their relationship with each other. Oh, and postage stamps.

Dick Grayson was hiding in a pillar box on the corner of the street with his mouth open, catching letters and allied mail between his nicotine-stained teeth as folks posted them, savouring the flavour of first class stamps and spitting out the second class variety. Dick Grayson was little for his age, and bored.

It was during a lull in the general scrabble of people pushing paper and card into the letter box when Dick heard the distant baritone of a manly voice singing “I left my heart in Piccadilly” and detected the catchy hint of a sob between verses.

“What a place to leave anything! Are you crying?” he asked.

“Is that a talking pillar box? Can that be the case? Oh, marvel me, that pillar boxes" sob "can talk!” exclaimed the manly baritone.

“No, it's me!” squawked Dick.

“Where are you, my little sweetheart?” asked a confused Brucie-boy, the manly baritone owner as he pushed a green envelope into the pillar box.

“Not in Piccadilly, that's for sure. Ouch!” rattled Dick as the corner of the descending green envelope caught him on his left eye.

“Is that a child within?” whimpered Brucie-boy. “Are you sitting in there, robbing the post? Is that your devious plan, my teensy little crook?”

“I'm doing nothing of the sort!” protested Dick Grayson. “I'm just enjoying the sweet flavour of first class stamps, and if a lad can't do that when the sun's shining then there's something wrong with the world!”

“Are you a man or a mouse?” demanded Brucie-boy. “Eating stamps, of all the things to confess to doing!”

“I'm a man!” protested the pillar-box entombed voice. “My name is Dick Grayson and I am twenty one years old. So I'm a man and if I fancy the taste of first class stamps then it ought to be all right by you!”

“Ha-ha! A spunky lad,” mused Brucie-Boy. “Well, I'm Brucie-boy, though some folks call me Bruce Wayne, and I've just posted a letter,” murmured the baritone. “And it strikes me as odd, that you should be in there, robbing the mail!”

“I'm just tasting...” repeated Dick, bored with the conversation.

“Then I will release you from that nasty smelly pillar box and you will come with me,” shouted Brucie-boy. “Together we will become mighty heroes...”

The door to the pillar box swung open and a winged rodent gazed in.

“What in the name of Spiderman are you?” gasped Dick.

“I am called the Batman, mighty superhero of many long indigestible films, and you, my thieving, robbing friend can be my side-kick!” exhorted the strange creature, dribbling with anticipation. “And, because you are in here robbing the mail I will call you that: the Mail!”

“No you won't” snarled Dick.

“Then I will call you Robin,” whispered the Batman thoughtfully, “and you will be more than my side-kick. You will be more than a tassel to my golden threads of glory! You will be my ...”

“Yes?” asked Dick.

“You will be my lover,” said the baritone Batman gently, and Dick Grayson collapsed into his arms, sighing.

“Forever Autumn,” he whispered, “forever Autumn.”