The Dark Knight is owned by the Nolan Brothers

Everyone Hurts

He wasn't raised in a home. The streets weren't a home at all, but admit it, the boy was bright. He'd outlived his father hadn't he, the old coot. His mother was dead. Stabbed fourteen times. His father was dead as well, but this time the boy had killed him, but not before the father had attacked him. He took the pistol and shot before he thought. He bandaged the wounds the best he could. He didn't have relatives. He didn't exist. As the wounds healed slowly, the scars remained. The boy was an animal. Why wouldn't he be? Scrounging for food among the worst of Gotham had made him one. He always envied the lonely boy that owned the mansion. He had girls. He had parents. He'd known love. What was love, really? The boy heard it talked about. Girls would probably dump him on the street. His father was long gone. Dead. Something in the kid snapped. He went downhill from there. He fell into what the experts at the mental facility at Arkham called a psychotic breakH, a nervous breakdown. He was in and out of those facilities and as the money from the Wayne family slowly drained, experiments were conducted, and the boy, now a teen with a vicious temper. The experiments made him unpredictable, even vindictive. He was usually the ward bully. He began to even joke about the vicious scars across his face. Once the other patients ganged up on him for April Fool's and painted his face to look like a clown. The demented mind grew proud of the term of the mental clown, and soon made a joke of his vicious tricks. He was a hooligan that was for certain. He made himself think he was funny by his cruel jokes. He liked the negative attention. He fed off it. Almost like a vampire on blood, so when another bat showed up and took it all away; it was time to strike back. He'd forgotten what his mother used to call him; he'd had too many aliases since then. He applied the makeup, the lipstick the eyeliner. It was all a joke, right? He grimaced at the mirror. How he hated that confounded what-ever-they-called-him, who just pretended to be a hero. He wasn't a hero, he told jokes. He wasn't trying to make the world a better place. Gotham was a worse enough city that would soon destroy itself. The corruption ran too far up the chain of command. Kill him, kill him…his dementented mind focused on the city's newest rage. The people loved him, the press covered him, the criminals feared him, and the police didn't know what to think of him. But he? He hated this new rage: The Batman…

Rest in Peace, Heath Ledger....