This will be the slowest story you have ever read an probably the worst you have ever read, considering my character is just the Joker except a tad bit more sane, also I can't write. I have a reddit by the way, /u/Isthisfuckingtook or something, contact me there and ignore the stupid comments.
His name is David Lane. You, David, grew up in the south and led quite the life. As a child you were what could only be described as an "near-sentient being". You were so numb that apparently (not that you remember this period of your life, that would have cost far too much focus) a walking shell of a child. You ate popsicles every single day for some reason and was a general asshole.
His teenage years were pubertic and awkward. He hated being a child. No one took him seriously and he was far too mature for his age group. Growing up in the south... as much as it pains him to say it... internalized some less-than-tolerant thoughts.
You can talk too by the way, this story isn't completely narrated.
"Alright... here we go, ehehe." David say as he walk into the area officially known as "Gotham". By "area" David means huge bustling city. The "Welcome!" and population signs are actually located further inside the city, David discovered.
David plans to be a criminal... A small criminal. 'It would be hard to get a normal job with disfigurements as interesting as these, HA!' David thinks.
During Halloween when David was on the verge of 19, something unfortunate occurred. He was wearing a white mask that perfectly covered his face. His mother worked at a nuclear plant. Believe it or not, nuclear accidents don't grant you superpowers. David doesn't even know what the hell happened... to him he fell and nearly drowned in nuclear sludge which glued a mask to his face, and fucked his hair.
Yes, the mask was now a part of his body. He had carved holes for his eyes in it which resulted, to someone looking at David, as pure black holes in his eyes with small green dots on his pupil. He actually carved an entire wicked mouth as well, also being pure black to his audience...'well, soon to be audience.'
His hair, being long, brown, and curly... Was now still long, but pointed upwards in estranged bundles, and black.
'Well I like it better this way, butthole!'
It also drove him completely and utterly mad. Or at least that's what the records that no longer exist said. He took pride in it but honestly never felt any difference what-so-ever.
It was true... he was insane... but still human. he was mature, had morals ('Hell, I only killed one person on this train called life so far and that was in self defence'), And he was also mature, well, sometimes...'I wonder if ninjas can climb trees.' Truth be told, he enjo- scratch that, loves it. His mental health makes him unique... so what his clinical depression makes him void of happiness? At this point, why want it when you can have satisfaction?
'Being normal sounds horrifying at this point... you know maybe some therapy cou-'
...
"No." David says. Arrr it's one of those days. David rarely let it get so, oh so out of hand but his mind has been swimming with ideas, he has no time to fight it back. The sores that came with his onslaught of mental health issues are vast. He sometimes get headaches or just general periods of pain in his mind. Why can't his mind just deal with it like he does?
He has thought about it... After one single afternoon with a therapist (not even on the job, just a conversation) who had captured David in a good mood his general attitude had increased dramatically.
That horrified him.
His mind is his pride! Having the knowledge that all it takes is one single day with a normal conversation to help him was honestly the scariest realization of his life. If all it takes is a year to turn him into a happy civilian then what is the point of it all?
...
"NO!" David yells to himself sitting on a lone rooftop... why is he allowing himself to go down this train of thought? It's too late. It is night time, raining, thugs in the street drinking alchohol to numb there mind of their guilts and lies the only way possible in Gotham, through alcohol..."Hehe." David whispers. "That was funny."
David doesn't drink.
...
See what I mean I'm a terrible author. I hadn't even gotten to David finding a place to live yet... that being said tune in next chapter.