Why did it have to be scorching hot? It didn't seem right. This was supposed to be a funeral; where was the darkness, the rain, everything that was meant to reflect such an occasion.

The only darkness were the ebony suits and dresses worn by the dozen or so in attendance as they stared mournfully down at the grave, six foot deep. Soon the hole would be filled, burying with it a lost love, life, and soul.

All was silent save for the reverend reading the typical passages; "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" etc. Even the wind, a warm breeze that had begun since they had come out here, had recently ceased, as if it had stopped in a grieved sort of respect.

There was no headstone yet; the woman due to be buried beneath the earth's green service would, for the timing being, have to remain nameless. Just another member of a distinct group that we will all become a part of one day: the deceased.

Except to those who loved her.

To those people she was far more: a loving wife, daughter, and if fate had not so cruelly intervened, she would have been a wonderful mother as well of that he was certain.

And he would have been a father.

But again that simple-to-pronounce, four letter word, had seen fit to intervene in his life. Fate could be kind, fate could be cruel, but in this case, he believed, fate had been downright monstrous.

…Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't fate's fault that this tragedy had occurred, it was his and his alone. Blaming fate was his way of denying responsibility for his wife's death. In the eyes of law her demise had been an accident, but in his heart he knew the agonizing truth: he was a murderer, plain and simple.

He had promised her several times over the last few months that he would fix that bottle heater, but he always seemed to put it off with one excuse or the other.

But he had run out excuses and his wife had run out of life.

The guests were departing now, leaving him to stand there alone. Soon the men would be back to fill in the hole and his wife would be gone forever.

"I'm so sorry, Darling," he whispered. "I know those words come far too late, but I want you to know that I really, truly, am sorry, and if saying that could bring you back I would apologize a thousand times over, but I know it can't. I just hope that you can hear me somewhere and you – both of you- forgive me for what I have done…..and what I'm about to do. I don't want to do it, my reason for doing it died when you died, but I know I don't have a choice. I'm scared that this may be the last time I ever see you because after tomorrow night I believe that I will be heading to hell, never to feel you soft skin against my hands, your rosy lips against mine…"

He trailed off, tears threatening. "I'm sorry." He turned slowly away and went to sit on a wooden bench that overlooked the cemetery.

The guy was a complete mess; he felt sick, exhausted, and above all, dirty. There seemed be this voice in the back of his mind taunting him, screwing with him. His head was spinning as he recalled all the things that had happened: the loss of his job, the money problems, the upcoming burglary, and now his wife's tragic death.

If anything else were to happen he thought he might snap.

"Everyone's laughing at you," the voice sneered. "'Look at that pathetic twit' they're saying. You're like that clown in the circus who always gets the custard pies thrown at his face."

"Don't you get it? What I'm trying to tell you about this world? … No matter, you'll find out soon enough…and when you do you'll laugh your head off."

He shook the voice away and glanced back towards his wife's grave where two men were busy filling it in.

He thought about the headstone he would love to get for his wife. It would be the most beautiful one in the entire cemetery; snow white marble with golden engraved writing, shining in moonlight, flashing in the sun, and it would be surrounded by a border of deep red roses.

Oh great, he was making purchasing his deceased wife's headstone sound like Christmas shopping or something.

Wait.

Christmas.

Her birthday.

Oh dear God, why hadn't it occurred to him until then?

He would never celebrate those days with her again. It would have been her birthday in eight weeks time, he had gotten her a diamond ring (the diamonds were fake but she wouldn't have known that and besides it was the thought that counts,) but he had forgotten about it with everything that had happened.

"I should have given you the ring at the morgue" he whispered, devastated. "You would have loved it, I know you would. I may suck at comedy but if there's one thing I am good at it's knowing what you like, and diamonds are a girl's best friend after all."

After sitting there for several more minutes he suddenly noticed a piece of paper sticking out of his left pocket. Taking it out, he discovered that it was a leaflet for a new housing development in the city.

'Brand new one, two, and three bedroom homes,' the leaflet announced. 'Great for couples and growing families!'

With a growl of anger and frustration he ripped the paper to shreds letting the pieces flutter to the stony ground; he then got up and began to pace round.

"Why?" he yelled, aiming his voice up to the clouds. "Why do you have to keep reminding me of what I've lost? I know I'll never be happy again, but that doesn't give you, oh Lord," – he pointed upwards- "the right to keep rubbing it in my face!"

He continued to pace, trying to take deep breaths as he did so; he needed to calm down.

Luckily the men were gone by now so they hadn't seen that little display. A mound of earth covered the ground beneath which his wife lay in her eternal sleep.

Along with their dead baby.

The thought of never being able to hold his child was almost too devastating to bear. He remembered when he and Jeannie had gone to her twenty week scan; they had decided to keep the baby's gender a surprise. Now he would never know whether he was going to have a son or a daughter, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life.

"Oh honey, you would have made a wonderful mother," he whispered, walking back over to stand by her grave again. "We could have had a houseful of pattering feet, what do you think?"

There was no answer of course but that didn't stop him from waiting a few seconds, as if he had expected one.

"I'm going to miss you more than words can say, honey; I'm going to miss both of you so much, I never deserved to have you in my life, God knows I didn't. I've always wondered why you chose me. Out of all the people you could have had you chose to dedicate your life to me. Why?"

"To be honest that's a question only you could answer, but I'll tell you what caught my eye about you. It wasn't your beauty, your wit, or your intelligence – though I loved all those things about you -, it was your smile; you had the most beautiful smile I had ever laid eyes on; dazzling white teeth, your eyes sparkling. When you smiled you made me forget all my troubles and best of all, your smile made laugh."

"With you I was able to be myself, I didn't have to pretend when I was with you, and I could simply be myself. You appreciated my comedy when no one else would."

"Bob Hope once said, "I have seen what a laugh can do. It can transform almost unbearable tears into something bearable, even hopeful." Maybe one day soon I'll be able to laugh again and my tears will no longer be for you. At this moment though I know I'm not ready yet, and I believe that I may not be for a long time."

He looked up, and in the distance he could see the place he was due to 'visit' the next night. Thoughts of the task that he was about to undertake was almost making him sick with anxiety.

"You know love," he spoke to his deceased wife again, "if this job goes well tomorrow I'm going to be richer than I've ever been before. But what's the point in having money if you've no one to share it with? The job was going to be for you and the baby, so we could all have a better life together. I guess that's completely out of the question now though."

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Like I said before, I don't want to do the job, but I have to…my life depends on it. I don't know why that should really bother me though, my life as you can probably tell, isn't exactly great at the moment. To tell you the truth honey, I would rather be up there with you."

Beginning to walk towards the exit of the cemetery he turned around again and faced the headstone, now hidden amongst all the others.

"Wish me luck honey," he whispered. "I'm going to need it."

End.

Hope you enjoyed it.

AN: And then he commits the robbery, meets Batman, falls in some chemicals, and becomes the psychopathic clown we all know and love.