Okay, I quit resisting to publish this! This story originated as scattered parts of dreams I had, but I modified it into making slightly more sense[c'mon, it's a Joker story. XD]. This part is mainly the prologue. If you think you're going to like this story, by this entry; Review, review, review!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Joker, The Batman, or 'Bob.' DC ComicsTM does. I do own my character and her family, though.

I hate my mother. I used to think she loved me, so the feeling was mutual, but I then found that love to actually be an obsession. She took the one thing more precious to me than money, or love, or life; time. She took my time away from me, so I took it back.

I did need a severe bit of help, you see, to open my eyes to this fact. All of my life, I had been sheltered. Literally. You may be thinking "Oh, well, here goes another story about some rebel chick with strict parents." Well, you're very wrong. I was born with Severe Combined Immunodeficiency, which you'd all know as the "bubble boy" disease, I think. Every single person, boy or girl, is usually born with an immune system. Without it, we'd all die, because the thymus gland produces T-helper cells, a huge part of our immune system. And I didn't have that.

You know that movie "Bubble Boy," right? How they make big ha ha's from the fact this Jimmy fellow parades around the nation, in a bubble suit, to find some hoe-bag who apparently has some definition to her feeble mind? It's all a load of crap.

Yeah, I needed to stay confined within a sterile environment and only eat certain foods-no meat for me-, or I'd die. That's all the movie got right. My room didn't have windows, or I would have overheated and died. The room temperature had to stay at a toasty 56 degrees Fahrenheit, just in case there were any leaks in my own plastic sanctuary. There never were. I was always deathly pale and wondering if I would keel over, any time soon, for as long as I'd lived with this disease.

At the ripe age of eighteen, I really had no choice but to still reside in my parent's house. Did I mention that they were completely loaded? They wouldn't have been able to afford my living space, if they hadn't been.

Mr. Johnathan P. Erickson and Mrs. Mary J. Erickson were the proud parents of two lovely children with the same illness. Can you believe it? They both must have carried the gene, for both my brother, Odin, and I had the same unfortunate dilemma we had to face alone.

I had never actually seen Odin, of course, but we had convinced our parents to get us a set of walkie-talkies to stay in touch with each other. I knew he was eight years old and had a great infatuation with cars, but that's all I could find out from the quiet boy. We were the only ones we had, despite what we thought of our mother; of the true obsessive jail warden she really was. She was our collector and we were her obsession...

Well, that was that! I hope you enjoyed it. There will obviously be my own sense of humor thrown into the story, but I promise not to get too out of hand with my ridiculousness. ^ ^