A/N: Joker does not belong to me.
Just an interesting insight...one of the moments of the Joker being vulnerable/human?
Just for a moment, I stop, the anger ebbed away, as abruptly as it had...exploded! a moment before--
The delicious fragility of the travesty was still dewy in the air, and mystified by the novelty,
I feel my eyes narrowing, lips pursing, thoughtfully, a small and curious tongue running over greasy red while a naked hand (the gloves were thrown to the ground during my fit of rage)
runs across smudged skin. Contemplative look at the shards of glass on the tiled floor, the colourful pieces of fine china glittering, but not like gold.
I wonder...
A doctor, "psychiatrist", once asked me if I ever felt remorse in therapy.
I told him no, right before I killed him.
(ironic?)
But now, in retrospect--
As I stand here with a bleeding hand and a confused expression, thoughts almost at a sluggish standstill, for once, I told a lie.
How would it feel to be a broken plate?
It was the closest to 'sorry' I've almost ever felt.