I don't own Batman, I don't own The Joker. I own nothing!
"..." Is a pause where the Joker licks his lips.
"Isn't it funny? Isn't it hi-larrr-ious? Their screams, their tears, fawning over the loss of loved ones. So, so sad, I think I might just shed a tear! Ha!
They all think I'm crazy, see? That I'm... Evil, but no, no they're the evil ones, the second you introduce a smudge of chaos into their perfectly planned lives, they become the only victims in their beady little eyes. They lost the loved one, they got hurt, they don't care about anyone else but themselves.
People change, you could take... Say, the mother of a small child and hold a knife to her throat, she'd scream, she'd cry, she comply, maybe begging to save her child, maybe begging to save herself, but she'd be the victim. The damsel in distress, the weak one... And I. Hate. Weakness.
I had a mother once, you see, beautiful little thing she was, bright eyes, blonde hair, a real... Looker. One night, I picked her up from work, never had a father around, just ran away. We didn't need him, didn't care, well, that's not true, we cared a bit, if you can call resentment caring.
But we looked after each other, loved her, I did. She was my mother, of course, she taught me everything I know! How to do magic tricks with knifes and not cut yourself, how to twist great tales, how to deliever the perfect punch line, humor ran in my blood, I was a real joker from day one!
Well, as I was picking her up, she asked me to help her out back, she worked serving tables at this Italian restaurant, for a little extra pay, she cleaned and locked up when they closed, the manager was a fat man, real greasy, like some sort of vermin, but he liked his money, so he paid my mother half the normal fees for cleaning, and saved a bundle. Not that he got to keep it for long, of course.
Now, at the time, I thought I saw regret swimming in her lovely eyes, those ocean waves, but no, no, no, no, no, she felt no regret, hahaha, she was happy! Had a real smile on her face by the time it was all finished.
We walked around the back ally, there was bags of rubbish that needed to be put in the dumpster, she was just too... Weak to do it herself, like the good little son I was, I did it all, while my mother stood there, a cigarette in between her bony fingers. She liked her cigarettes a lot. Always did.
But here's the real kicker, after I finished, a bullet tore through my shoulder, hurt at the time, but I was more concerned for my mothers safety the seconded it registered. But she was still standing there, cigarette in hand, smiling, smiling wide.
"Why so serious, sweetheart?" She asked, showing off her yellow teeth, like some twisted demon.
"What?" I sputtered, my head whipping from side to side, one second on the looming group of men, 5, to be exact, each with some sort of weapon, they obviously weren't creative because one had a nail through a wooden board! How un-ima-gi-na-tive can you beee?
"Your father was serious, as well, it was sad, he was serious until the day he died." My mother cooed sar-cas-tic-ally, my lovely little face was twisted in unbelieving and confusion. I think that moment, that moment, I realised I hated not having control, because that's what I have to be, right? Controlling. I can't merely enjoy watching people squirm with their lives on a thread, I have to control it. But then again, no control is weakness, and I hate weakness. Am I repeating myself? Oh well! You don't care! You're not allowed, you're in no control to do so! Hahahahaha!
I'm going off course again, silly, silly me. Yes, the men, my mother, it was like being a trapped rat, like some horrible vermin that needed to be squashed. The men came at me, it seemed that the first thing to get me was the wooden board, how crazy is that?! It hooked me right through the cheek it did, unfortunate that the man was shoved to the side for another man to make room, another one wanting my blood, because it seems that the nail was razor sharp and sliced open my left cheek, from cheek bone to my lip, r-uh-iiiiiiip! The men stopped, staring at my half smile with disgust, it was my mother who started the laughing, the hysterical, endless laughing. Still with me today, you know, up there. Another man with a flip razor came at me, two others dropping their toys and holding me steady, he sliced open my other cheek, pulling it violently, taking away chunks of skin. Leaving me with my Glasgow smile, my b-ay-utiful smile. All I can really remember... You see... Was passing out, lost a lot of blood, it was like riding a merry go round, spinning and spinning and everything became a blur.
I woke up in my room, yellow green pain chipping off the walls, I sat up quickly, feeling my face, hoping it was just a dream. I felt the stitching, the thick thread that held my cheeks together, no such luck, it was so marvelously real. That was when I felt it, that, bubbling in my throat, that beautiful feeling of being so in control it was uncontrollable, I cackled, I screeched, I giggled, I chuckled, I wheezed, I laughed.
My mother ran into the room, concern marring her face as she knelt by my bedside.
"Sweet heart? What's wrong? Are you OK? I'm so sorry about last night, it's just, mummy looses control sometimes. It's OK now though! See! You're all better! The cuts will heal in no time and I'll never let those nasty men hurt you again!" Mother babbled, I didn't like babbling. I calmed down, if you can call it that, and turned to her, new blood trickling down my cheeks from reopening wounds.
I smiled, pulling tightly against the thread on my cheeks, I smiled.
"Now why..." I licked the insides of my cheeks, lapping up some blood. "Are you so serious? Hmm?"
Her face twisted into one of horror, she didn't like her own words.
"Why. So. Serious?" I remember seething, I get angry sometimes, so angry that people just don't seem to walk away from it.
She backed up, tripping slightly over the upturned, ripped carpet and darted out of the room, I laughed again, jumping up and chasing after her. No, no, the smiles, they had to be shared you see, she made me smile forever, it was only fair I did the same for her.
She was in the kitchen at this point, she had grabbed a kitchen knife to defend herself.
"Now why, oh why, oh why, would you need that, hmm? You think I'm going to hurt you? Don't be so silly!" I chuckled, she placed the knife down slowly, carefully.
"I'm going to do much more than that." I sneered, I had this problem with mood swings, never able to stay in one place at one time.
I lept at her, smashing her head against the floor as I grabbed the previously discarded kitchen knife.
"Are you going to tell me why? Hmm? Whyyyyyy?" I asked, pressing the knife to her throat.
"Your father." My mother spat in return, always straight to the point.
"Yesss?"
"You look just like him, he tried to take you away from me, you know. Deemed me unfit to raise you, he called me crazy, could never take a joke, I just wanted you to smile, love. You don't want to turn out like that, do you? Always so serious!" My mother tried to reason, her eyes were filling with tears.
I licked the insides of my lips, I could see this becoming a habit.
"No, no, but then again, I wont have to worry about that ever again. I should be thanking you!" I replied, smiling once again as her face seemed to wash with relief. "By making you smile as well! Only bigger! Better! We can't have such a joyful person go without smiling now can we?" I pressed the blade across her lips.
"No, please! Don't!" She cried. "I don't want to die!"
I brought the knife a bit higher from her lips, she relaxed, I suppose she thought I was going to save her.
"Now mother... Why so serious?" I slammed the blade so hard, I almost cut through her skull! It was beautiful! I lovely river of blood! It was almost black there was so much of it... So... Glorious, her blood has never been matched.
Maybe that's why I'm killing? Hmm? Because I want to say things that was never said to the person whose blood matches my mothers? Something stupid like that? Hmm? Maybe? Possible? A tiny bit? No? Oh well."
The Joker stood, brushing off his royal purple trousers and pulling a hidden blade out of his matching tailed jacket.
"You know, Doctor, you lied, that didn't make me feel closer to sanity." The Joker said, walking over to a squirming Doctor, trapped in a straight jacket with hand cuffs around his ankles, also attaching him to a chair. His screams muffled by the gag around his mouth.
"It made me feel further!" The Joker cackled, pitch high. Snatching the gag roughly from the Doctors mouth, the Joker crouched down to his level.
"Now give it to me straight, Doc. Do you think there's something wrong with me?" The Joker cackled again, flicking out his blade and slicing the Doctors throat, the Joker turned, snatched up a brown file and meandered out of the room.
Later, the file could be found burning in the middle of an office, not just any office, but the office of Julia Knicklson, the head doctor of the psychiatric unit in Gotham general hospital, alongside a letter that read:
"Dear Mr. Napier,
Following up on some old files, we discovered a request from your mother, who was seeking psychiatric help for you after you appeared to of been caught in a mishap with some thugs. It was never followed through, due to your mothers death, in which we'd like to offer our sincerest apologies. If you feel you are still in a worrying state of mind, we'd like to offer some counseling, it may help you feel more sane, if you feel over the edge.
The time and date of the arranged appointment shall be on a card in the envelope, as well as the address and name of the Doctor who you will be talking to.
All the best, from Dr. Knicklson.
Psychiatric department."
A twisted scream could be heard once Julia had returned to her office the following morning, to find a Jokers face painted on her wall, her floor, walls, ceiling and desk covered in "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" unmistakably left by none other than the Joker. Upon investigation, a Joker card was found on top of her desk reading "Why so serious?"
This is a one shot, but I'll eventually follow it through to a story. So yeah, review and tell me what you think, or something.