Fragmented
Disclaimer: I do not own TDK.
Dogs.
In the soul-freezing darkness of Arkham, The Joker is like a gargoyle, a corpse freshly reanimated. The shadows soften the edges of his razorblade smile. He arrays his stories carefully, and drops the slivers down the throats of the begging whitecoats one by one, pieces of meat for his fawning dogs. It makes him smile, when he is alone, how they cringe and whine at his feet, how they scrap and howl over the rancid meat of his lies, the bullshit and the scraps of truth to flavour, fresh blood poured on roadkill to hide the stench.
Author's Note: This is the first complete story I've ever published. Similarities to my other TDK story, 'Gods of Chaos', are because these drabbles were the inspiration for that work. Originally an assessment for university and based on prompts from the Livejournal community Knives and Lint.
Concrit well received,
Taluliaka.