Day by Day.
Hour by hour.
It's dark in my cell.
The clock ticks away the seconds. I sit on my bed, brushing my hair.
Brush, brush, brush.
It's well over a hundred stroke. Oh well.
I put my brush down. It's clogged with my dyed hair. The brown roots are starting to show again. So much for my phone call home this month. Guess Mommy will just hafta be disappointed. I'll trade it for hair dye-assumingly they'll let me. One or two doctors have said it's 'bad for my therapy'.
Whatever.
[break]
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. It's past 7:00. The nightshift's here.
Oh! A new guard. This outta be fun. Heh. I'll take all the amusement I can get here.
He's stopping…
…right in front of my door. Idiot. Rule one for the workers; you don't talk with the inmates unless nessary. I'm the reason they added it. I spent to much time with my puddin'. It changed me.
"Hey cutie!" He calls out.
I narrow my eyes. I'm gonna shove his "hey cutie" up his ass the next time I get out. I'm a one-man girl, and he outta already know that.
"What's your name?" I reply instead. After all, if I'm gonna kill a guard, I should at least know his name. Just a little courtesy for a man who could've been my co-worker.
"Rick."
Then he walks off. Two rules broken then; no talking, and don't give the inmates personal information. Idiot. Talk about a newbie.
[break]
I resume staring at the ceiling. There's that spot of mildew. When I started working here, it was about the size of a quarter. Now it's the size, and shape of a shoe. They need to fix the ceiling in my cell. It leaks.
I turn my head. The rough fabric of the pillow cover scratches my cheek. Irrated, I throw it on the floor, and put my head in my hands.
There it is! They haven't fixed that crack yet. Hard to believe it's been a month since I last left this place. Something about Arkham makes seconds into hours, and hours into days.
Maybe that's why I went mad. Maybe that's why I let go of what little sanity I had so easily. Arkham does that to people; inmates or workers.
I snort. Now I sit on the other side of the table. Now I avoid questions, and wear the orange. Now I watch the nurses, and doctors write down whatever bullshit I decide to tell them likes it's the truth.
It's worth it though. I've got my puddin', and I've got a true friend in Red. And hey, bein' famous never hurt either. Everyone knows Harly Quinn belongs with the Joker.
Well, everyone except Rick, that is.
[break]
The clock ticks away.
Second by second.
It's dawn now.
The light creeps into my cell, lighting up the cracks in the ceiling, the mildew in the cornor.
It's been a long night.
I couldn't fall asleep. Just kept starin' at the ceiling, thinkin'. Doc Reed would be proud of my progress.
Whatever.
Hour by hour.
Day by day.
It's all I do. Sit in my cell, and stare at stuff. Untill the next time I get out.
Either for playtime-in-the-rec-room, or playtime-with-Batsy-and-high-explosives.
After all, anything's better than nothing.
Anything's better then Arkham Asylum.
[break]
A/N: This is a rather dark fic inspired by Arkham Asylum: Madness.
I couldn't get the story out of my head. Harly's one of my favorite characters, and I figured she'd be in a unique postion to understand what it is that makes Arkham Hell on Earth for the inmates, the gaurds, the doctors and nurses. Please review, even if you just wanna tell me it's crap, cause reviews are what helps improve my writing.