um... i've never put a fanfiction on here before so i don't know where you make comments or what happens after your story is submitted after writing out the summary and whatnot so i'm just really using this descriptive story to find out.
disclaimer: i do not own the dark knight or the joker.
The Joker hated it.
The room was all white.
No splash of colour here or a few decorative pictures there.
It was just white.
He had expected it to be a solid coloured, padded cell. But this one wasn't exactly as he expected.
It was tiled.
But still boring. Monotonous. And white.
He was going to change all that.
Unbeknowst to the guards the Joker had stolen a large texter from one of the other patients and snuck it into his cell.
He surveyed the room. Where to start, what to write.
He took a step towards the closest wall and drew a large smiley face.
Then the words came.
Flowing out of him in torrents. So fast that he could barely keep up.
Insanity is society's name for those who don't conform.
Non conformists are martyrs for those who refuse to follow the crowd.
Great people have one thing in common; they lack conformity.
Soon he had covered one wall and was starting on the next and all too soon that wall was filled up as well, he'd have to start writing smaller.
I am not insane, society is insane.
He knew his words would seem like utter insanity to any one who tried to read his erratic scrawl, but he didn't care.
They made sense to him.
Society claims that i am insane;
They say i suffer from insanity;
I'm not i merely lack conformity;
I just have a lack of conformity.
Before he knew it, he had covered the walls, floor, ceiling and door with words and pictures.
Insanity is just sanity flipped to it's wilder more creative side.
The texter was nearly spent, but it didn't matter.
He had his fun.
Later that day, when the Joker was talking to the psychiatrists, the cleaner came in to the empty cell and nearly had a heart attack.