A/N: Hi people of FanFic...I know I haven't updated in..months...BUT! Don't fear, this is something I have been craving to give this to you guys for WEEKS...I just haven't been at my compy much since the X-mas break started ;;...Okay, just a little FYI, this is a little fic I made up after seening the newest Dark Knight trailer (I have been waiting for a little under a year for word of this film and I am DYING to see it this upcoming summer) and it is how the Joker from TDK (Not the old comics or animated series) came to be...I like this version better than the real one...how simple and plain it is..so I spiced it up WITH GORE!!! laughs evil laugh Read this story sloooooowly PLEASE, it's meant to be that way...don't rush it...okay? Enjoy...R&R S'il to plait!! C'est tres bon pour moi!!!

Prompt: "Let's Put A Smile On That Face!"

Rated: M (to be safe...I really think it's T but, whatever)

Setting: Pre-TDK

Characters: Joker

Smile

The small blade hung loosely in my filthy, unwashed hand. I was disgusting; the dirt had rotted my mind and made me the disease I am today, to all mankind. I became a type of parasite, feeding off the joy of others, their laughter, their happiness.

Of course, there was the matter of my mental instability, but that can't be held accountable for what I've become. The world's the one who fucked up, not me. The world became a repulsive, maggot-infested sty where the sinner came to play. I am simply a victim of circumstance.

So here I sit, on the cold floor of an abandoned warehouse that reeks of spoiled meat and flesh, holding my tiny dagger, thinking. I had always wanted to do something to this world to rid it of the sadness and sickness caused by the putrid souls that soil this planet day in, day out. I had become one of the sick, infected with the filth and sadness, but now, it was time for a cure.

Someone once said that smiles and laughter are the best medicine for a broken heart. Hopefully, a smile can do just as much good to mankind as it could to the heart. Smiles bring joy to a tiny infant's face, showing someone you care...a smile could do...wonders...

An epiphany struck like lighting in my brain; it was perfect, but, I had to be sure it was affective. I only had to start with one, they are so contagious, you know? So, I took aged blade, studied it and decided that it had to be done.

Positioning the sharp edge where my lips meet at a crease, I sliced up my cheek, the rusty blade blending with the crimson of my blood. The stinging sensation was unbearable, it was so real; I had to keep going and finish the task. Repeating the same, swift slice on the other cheek, the blood flowed just as much as the first. So real.

I rose to my feet, stumbling and falling over myself, the room somewhat spinning. Finding an office on a n upper floor, I scavenged threw drawer after drawer, searching. My clothes, the ones I was currently wearing and always wear, I made them myself so I know there are some needles and thread up here. Checking every drawer twice, every nook and cranny once over, the blood from my wounds made a rhythmic 'drip-drap' on the hardwood bureau, still no luck.

After cursing aloud and ripping up the final desk, I sank to the floor, defeated, for now. My head was heavy and my stomach churned; I felt nauseous. I closed my eyes and they remained that way for hours.

Upon wakening to a throbbing head and empty gut, its contents splattered on the floor some feet in front of me, a small glistening piece of metal captured my attention; there it was, the dirty little bastard. I blindly grabbed at it, stabbing and pricking my fingertips many times in the process, I ignored it. The little sliver of metal rolled and danced in my palm. How lovely a small thing like a needle could be. I found the black thread somewhere under a newspaper and ran down to the ground floor, cackling and screaming the entire way.

Sitting in the middle of the floor, I worked on my face. I tied the little black thread around and through the eye of the needle. With grubby hands, I placed the point at the starting place of the cut. With no prior or proper anesthetics, I plunged right in, jamming the needle into the blood-stained cheek, new blood flowing and covered the old. The pain was impeccable, so perfect. I followed suit, puncturing the flesh over and over, more and more blood dribbling down my filthy face, pulling tightly on the thread.

In sealing the cut, I had made sure that the flesh was somewhat pulled up, as if to resemble a grin. The needle and thread proved themselves just as effective and worthy on the other wound; a smile was formed.

With the pain subsiding, I ran into the out-of-order restroom where a florescent light flickered annoyingly and the walls were smeared, wet and dripping. The mirror that covered one of the walls was badly cracked but I still managed to reflect on my work; my masterpiece.

This was who I was meant to be. I would cure this city -nay- this world of its wrong doings. I will be the curer of the damned, the lord of joy and riot, the one to spread happiness and disinfect this dirty, low-life filled earth with a great smile upon my face.

I am the one, the only, Joker.

"Let's Put A Smile On That Face!"