"Did you ever have friends?"
The question was heavy. And admittedly, quite unexpected. You see, he'd heard it all. Every question a doc could as had been asked. Yet this one, this seemingly so simple question, always came on the blindside, and left him unsure.
"Mr. Joker?" the man repeated, in that tepid, doctor tone.
"Friends? "
Joker just looked down at the table. Examined the grooves and edges of it. Because, truly, he hadn't the foggiest idea. Had he had friends as a youth?
The days of his childhood, the days before bleached skin and bleachier soul, were far removed. Whether suppressed or rightly knocked from his brain, he couldn't tell for sure, but they were hard to reach. But every so often he'd get clips. Just tiny, flashing fragments of what was.
"Mr. Joker! If you're not going to cooperate, you can be escorted back to your cell. "
Still not a word from Joker's pasty lips. The flashes. They were so brief, so intense. In one, an image of a pretty redhead and what might have been him, sipping a shared beer. In another, images of him, surely him, screaming at someone. Someone he cared about, maybe even someone who cared about him, but whoever they were they were gone now.
Had he had friends?
He didn't know. But of course, he did know. He knew somewhere deep down, he did, and they were good friends, and he'd scared them off. Not as Joker. As someone else, something else, something lost.
"Ah. I see. "
Joker looked up.
"That question. It upsets you, doesn't it?"
Joker gave the doctor a cold stare. He then glanced up at the clock in the corner of the room. And then he grinned, and let out a low, wheezing chuckle. His amusement tripled as he heard shouts down the hallway, and guns being fired. The alarm sounded, and with a small explosion through the entrance came Harley.
"Hey!" the doctor yelled "Someone call the gua-"
BAMWith a single loud shot, he was dead. And so, Joker decided as he rose from the chair, as the handcuffs were cut off, as Harley called him 'puddin ' and ran with him to the car, was the question. Maybe he'd had friends. Maybe he hadn't. It mattered not. Because whoever those friends were friends with, it wasn't him. He, now, had no need for friends.
He, now, was the Joker.
Aloha. So here it is, my debut in fanfiction after four long years of silence. I've matured as a writer, and I hope that this story rightly encompasses that. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Lastly, as may be apparent, there many underlying messages in this short story. I simply wish to dedicate this story to my old friends on here. I only still talk to one of them, the rest I've scared off. However it has been years. If any of my old friends sees this and would like to reach out to me, I encourage it. I've matured as a person. And I apologize for my last state of mind. Thank you. Blessed be.