Hi! This is my second fancic and most active! You have no idea what reviews mean to me! They are the reason to keep writing! So please, leave your thoughts. I'm not lucky enough to own any of the characters.

xoxo

~Crayola ;D

The streets were slow considering a usual Gotham night. Most of the smart, sensible people of my little town knew to bolt the doors and windows once 7:30 rolled around but, then again, there isn't a lot of that type of person here. I pushed my way through the crowd walking in the opposite direction of me, taking shoulders to the neck and briefcases in the shin. Twenty different stereotypes most have shoved past me; the beggar, the conspiracy theorist, the thug, the Roxanne, and your "average, normal, everyday" good citizen. Yeah right. Still, I ignored them and kept on struggling to reach the end of the street. Something was there. I had to get to it. I had to.I could feel the time running out, as if it was tangible. Something was at the end of this street that could make all my problems go away; my declining grades, my crappy 9 to 5 minimum wage job, my mother's death, and my sister's brand new husband…everything. When I finally escaped the mob, I realized I was at a dead end. I was in a dark alley way that stunk of waste and booze, faded graffiti plastered over the shoddy brick walls. I could see a shaky silhouette with their back turned to me. Is this what I was fighting for? I could here little gasps escaping their throat.

"Excuse me?" I reached out a tiny, pale hand. The gasping grew louder. "Do you need help?" Those pathetic sounding little gasps morphed into something new. Laughter? Yes, laughter, and it got louder every second. The figure was doubling over now, howling. It frightened me. This was no happy, "Ha, you just told a joke" laughter. This was something sinister and twisted. It shook me to my very core as I shrank back against a grimy wall. This demented person was laughing at nothing, which made me very afraid. I felt a warm sensation blooming up my throat. I was preparing to scream when laughter blossomed from my lips.

This made him laugh more which made me want to laugh with him. He pointed out a spindly, long, white finger to a lump on the ground. I looked over. It was a heap of black nylon and limbs. The man laughed louder. It was a horrible, wicked sound similar to that of a hyena once it takes down an animal that is usually above it on the food chain. Come on you target for faraway laughter. Come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr. The lyrics of a song I once heard long before played in my head and it made me want to dance. So I did. I skipped circle around the lifeless mass that once was man.

I danced on his grave, and then I laughed.

I jolted upright in my bed, clammy and shivering. Damn I thought. What was that all about?! I smoothed back the tangled mass of bleached blonde that was my hair and pulled the sheets up around me. I felt a tight tension in my chest, from both fear and arousal. I threw off my comforter and ran to the kitchen. I downed the rest of the wine and popped a few Tramadol tablets. About 10 minutes later, it all came up again.