Preface: Hello, readers. Thanks for taking the time to read this. At first I just felt like trying to describe the Joker in words, but a million ideas started flying through my head, and I eventually managed to pull this one out of the chaos. My goal isn't to humanize the Joker, because I think that just sort of ruins the character, but just to explore the character and identify what it is that makes him 'The Joker'.
You may notice that this chapter is very short- just sort of an intro. Also, the formatting is all off because I don't have Word installed on this computer. I'll be writing the rest on my laptop, so this won't be a problem again.
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The silhouetted figure slowly turned. Something pink shot from his mouth, the thick, stringy spit reflecting his abnormally short tongue in the moonlight. He advanced menacingly towards me, his knife glinting as he spun it in his gloved hand. The tongue shot out again, and quickly drew back into his mouth.
"Why... hello there." he said, and something in his voice made me tremble; not from terror, but of some vague recognition. I could faintly make out his chin in the dark. It was an unnatural shade of white.
"You look a bit... uh.. frightened..." he said, continuing towards me. I thought of running, but was disappointed when I realized was sitting.
As he walked into the short corridor of light that surrounded me, a despicable smile plastered onto a face, that had been painted white some time long ago, so that the wrinkles on his forehead were now their original colors. The black makeup around his eyes made them appear even more sunken then they actually were. Worst, though, was the false smile painted in blood red around his mouth, culminating in the lumpy end of a scar that caught him in a perpetual smile. He barred his rotten, yellow teeth at me,and I saw the rest of him while diverting my eyes; a sweaty, unwashed group of yarn that danced and twirled around his head full of the debris from the explosion made up his hair, and a ratty, stained purple tuxedo with a striped green velvet vest covered his surely scarred and malformed body.
I pulled myself backward, away from him while still on the ground, but he lunged at me and pulled my face close to his. I felt the cold metal of his switchblade in my mouth- soon the metallic taste of blood was making my mouth tingle, and I couldn't keep the fear from my eyes. His face, wrapped in a scowl, quickly melted into another terrible smile. He licked his lips again and, with quiet cackle, said,
"Why so Serious?"
