The Limit is our Mind
Well, this was by no means a surprise. He had been here before and he would definitely come back here again eventually. But it was ok, he didn't mind. Heck, everyone needed a break once in a while. Even he. Besides, the place was so inspirational really. Arkham Asylum. That circus at the edge of Gotham, hosting a company of lunatics, so unique, that you wouldn't find any other like it, anywhere in the world. Come and see, come and see! We have the ultimate beast, the true monster, the dreadful Crocodile! The man with the two faces! The genius with a thousand riddles! And the blossom of all nature, the flower lady, deadly to touch, a marvel to watch, Poison Ivy herself! Some of them where almost as crazy as himself. Almost.
Well he had to give himself some credit. Last time, he truly outdid himself. He came so close. So close to changing Gotham's face forever. Having each and every one hospital patient dying in agony from the poisoned medication tends to do that to a city. Well, better luck next time. Bah, who was he kidding? He was a performer, he would never do the same trick twice…hmm…kindergarten perhaps…yes, that would work.
Of course, when you outdo yourself there are consequences. No warm bed. No meals. No visiting Harley in her room and getting naughty. No fighting with Penguin over the remote in the common room. Nope, just a straightjacket, an IV to pump him with just the necessary nutrients to survive and catheter to ensure that they somehow get out. And a white room.
They were fools. Fools, every last one of them. Hm..perhaps except one. They thought locking him up in total isolation would make some difference. Idiots! The only difference it made, was that it eased their conscience. It helped them forget him. Forget all that he did and all that he could do. Well, who can blame them, even doctors deserve to sleep without nightmares, don't they? But most importantly it helped them forget about themselves. About what each and every one of them can become after just a bad day….and the proper dose of deadly chemicals.
And there was another thing. Something the last doctor who examined him mentioned. The doctor thought that he responded too much to stimuli and had to be put in a stimulation-free environment. He responded to that by chocking the doctor with his own stethoscope. But apparently the next doctors had the same idea.
So, here he was, locked up in a white room, no drinking, no eating, no talking. Just white quietness. White, white, white. This is where they were wrong. It isn't about the room. It certainly isn't about who or what he sees or what he touches. Heck, they could chop off both his arms and legs and in the end he would find a way to express himself. Because you see, he knew that our limits don't come from what we can or can't do. No, no the things we can make reality, change from time to time. This is why reality is unimportant, this is why reality matters not. What matters is imagination. Not what it is, but what it could be. And his imagination, no, no, they had no way to stop it. No way. No pills, no electroshock nothing could change what his thoughts, what his visions were. And frankly, his achievements were nothing compared to his dreams. And he wasn't the only one who knew it. No, his partner in crime knew it too. Because, despite what most people might think they were partners. Not willing ones, at least from the bat's side, but in the end the dark knight knew that most of his tricks were merely done for him. He was his true audience. And there was no limit he wouldn't break, no act he wouldn't do, no atrocity he wouldn't commit to amaze his number one fan. Because in the end, the only limit he had was his own mind. And his mind was just like him. No one can have the slightest idea what the next inspiration would be. Not even the Clown Prince of Crime himself.
