I walked around the side of the barn after turning off the water pump. My brown thin plaid button up flapped lazily in the wind as the constant 'swoosh, swoosh' of my relaxed fit jeans rubbed against itself. A speck of water suddenly hit me on the cheek. Looking up, another hit me on the jagged scar on my chin. It reached from a little left of the middle of my lower lip to the right corner of the top of my chin. I raised my hand to wipe away the droplet as my fingers ran over the scar. It had happened nearly 12 years ago, but I could remember how I had got it like it happened yesterday.
I was 11 at the time and living in Gotham with my parents. We were at one of those fancy parties at a hotel whose name I can't remember. It was around 8:30. I knew this cause I heard a clock chime somewhere in the vicinity. Suddenly, I hear a gun fire. Being as young as I was, I didn't fully grasp what was going on.
"A party is just not a party with out the Joker!" a twisted voice rang out followed by a malicious high pitched laughter. I could hear foot steps getting closer but I couldn't see anything. So, being the curious little girl that I was, pushed my way through the crowd till I finally ended up bumping into something large and purple. I slowly lifted my eyes and saw his face. The pale white painted face, the blackened sunken eyes, and the red painted lips. It scared me how the red paint was smeared up over the long jagged scars over his cheeks. Well being a kid, it intrigued me more and I stared at that face for what seemed like an hour when only 3 seconds had passed. He looked down at me and licked the right corner of his lower lip. He rose what I could only guess as an eyebrow under that thick makeup. "Brave little cutie, aren't you?" he said as he kneeled down so he would be eye level with me. He licked his red stained lips again as he reached out to play with a lock of my dirty blond/brunette hair.
All I could do was stare at him. At his eyes…his lips…his scars. He could tell what I was looking at because suddenly he burst out "you want to know how I got these scars don't you sweetie?"
For some reason I nodded, bad idea. Before I knew it, his hand was around the back of my head and had a hollow spine switch blade at my lips. My eyes widened in terror as I franticly looked around the room to see where my parents were. They were both being held back by one guest or another. A strong hand pulled my attention back to that painted face. "How old are you?"
"E-eleven" I stammer out.
"Hmm, I guess I wasn't much older then you are then…you see my father was a fan of the grape…a drinker if you will…and ooh did he have a temper on him when he did…" he paused here and there as if trying to remember just how the story went as well as for dramatic effect. "one night, he goes of crazier then usual…mommy goes and gets the kitchen knife to defend herself…dad didn't like that. Once he gets done with her he turns to me… sticks the blade in my mouth like this" he simulated what he meant with me "and he says to me 'Why so serious son? Why so serious?'" he pulled the blade out of my mouth and let the flat part rest against my lip. "'Let's put a smile on that face!'" he finished just before a dark figure rose up behind him and pulled him back by the jacket collar. Unfortunately, the blade was still against my lip when that happened and it cut my lip open.
After that happened I could feel the strong arms of my father lift me up, and going to the hospital and getting my lip sewed back up. Not long after, the TV reporters told how the Joker had been caught. My parents decided that this city was no place to raise their daughter, so we packed up and moved out into what I have affectionately dubbed the "middle of nowhere."
And now here I am, 23 years old and still in the middle of nowhere. I walk back to the house after making sure everything was as it should be and plop myself into my office chair to check my e-mail. Junk…junk…more junk…hey "Mr. Gismo-up-his-butt" finally has a job for me to do. I click on the email and read it. Blah blah blah …something about going to the Gotham Police Department…draw what the place looks like…guess he has a new detective story on print…wait…Gotham!?
Well who was I to really complain; it was a job and at least I would get to see my old home again. I'd be fine as long as I didn't see that psycho clown. So I hoped the next 19 hour flight to Gotham and found myself a hotel.
"Name, please?" the front attendant asked.
"Sally Doppin…d.o.p.p.i.n" I answered as I held out my credit card. "A single if you will."
"Thank you ma'am" she ran her fingers gracefully over the keys and entered everything in. Once she finished, she held out my card and my room key and directed me which way to go.
Once I got to the room I dropped all my stuff and flopped on the bed. Ill get started unpacking and drawing tomorrow…it's just too late now. And with that I fell asleep.