Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Joker, or any of it's affiliations.
I saw in his eyes a deep torture. Scars that didn't come from the instant flash of a blade. But ones that formed over years of screaming, rolled up in a ball, eyes wide with such an immense indescribable pain. How many nights he spent writhing in his own insanity, no one brave enough to save him, I winced to imagine.
Realization washed over me at that moment, that the Joker wasn't anything more than he had a right to be. He had a right to hate the world, to destroy. With all that had been done to him, it was a wonder he was even alive.
What would it be like, I imagined, what would I be like if I had lived his life. Would I be the same? Would I have killed myself a long time ago? Despite being a killer, a thief, and all that he was, the Joker was also human. He was a man. Therefore capable of kindness, able to feel happiness without cruelty. A man who could too, love.
It was then that I looked at him, really looked at him. For the first time, in a new light, with a new understanding. It was if a blockade that stood fast in my way was suddenly knocked down into rubble at my feet.
And I did something that shocked not only the Joker, but myself. I averted my gaze from his eyes, to his mouth, lunged forward, and with all the ferocity of my anger for him, I kissed the painted lips of the Joker.
IMPORTANT: This story was published under my previous account of A Girl Called Sorrow. Well that account was hacked into and everything deleted, so I made a new one. This is the intro, a glimpse into the future, not where the story starts off. Review.