Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. This is free and belongs to other people.
Fluorescent bulbs flickered every few moments in Arkham's offices. Doctors and interns scrambled to get that last report filled, that last evaluation filed away with the rest. It was in the hands of the guards at that point. Oh sure, a few professionals would stick around to make sure every "T" was crossed, each "I" dotted. But it was truly the guards who kept Arkham a haven of insanity at night. They were the ones who made sure that the psychos left the tortured souls alone. It was their job to make sure that the new arrangements at Arkham went without a hitch. Patients being transferred from cell to cell, each assigned to their own padded loft. If they were good, they were put together. If they were bad, they got a special cell.
The Joker was bad. He was very bad. So bad he had earned his own room in the high-security wing of the asylum. Three walls, a door, and a six by two inch opening in the door for security to look in on him whenever they needed or wanted. The opening was near the top of the door, a few bars to keep his hands inside at all times. Upon his small cot he sat. Staring at the door. Smiling at the door. He had placed his small food tray at it's base like he was ordered to. In a matter of moments, a guard would open the small metal latch, slide out the food bowl, and lock the latch back up. That's how it went every evening at what he gathered to be 9:00.
As though it were clockwork, the guard's goateed face soon blocked out the light from the hallway. Joker waited for him to sink down to pick up whatever was left on the tray. A click and a squeak. He could see the small metal food hatch lifting.
"Uh, excuse me….Murray, was it?"
No response came, the latch opened. In an almost inhuman manner, the Joker dove towards the tray. His body spread on the floor, his fingers gripped onto the plastic. Through the latch he could see the guard's feet and shins crouched near the ground. Here was a man who just wanted to earn his measly wages by keeping the bad guys behind padded walls. Even from the nondescript legs the Joker could tell the last thing this guy needed was to be toyed with.
"I said….it was Murray…wasn't it?" He enjoyed playing with what few toys he had in Arkham.
"Let go of the tray," the guard responded.
"Murray, I promise you that in the long run this tray won't mean a THING to you." A small struggled ensued. The guard jerked his hand back, but the Joker did not release the plastic.
"It's Michael."
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Michael then. Michael," Joker pulled quickly on the tray, the guards hand fully within his cell from the force. "I want one of those." With his free hand, the Joker tapped on Michael's imitation Rolex watch.
"Patients aren't permitted to have objects they could use to hurt another patient, guard, or staff member."
With a sigh the Joker released the tray. He could here the small skids being made but Michael's patent leather shoes on the cold tile of the hallway. "Michael, I just want to know what time it is. Is that such a terrible thing? Hmm?"
"It's time for lights out," Michael said as he shut the latch.
The Joker remained on his stomach for a moment. He looked up at the opening at the top of the door to watch Michael-Murray's shadow walk away to finish his pointless rounds. He'd have to remember to kill him later. From his current point of view, the Joker could see bits of dirt mingled with crumbs on the ground. The bread was always stale. No matter how good the rest of the food was, the bread was stale. He pushed himself up slowly, going into a push-up before sitting back on his knees. He scooted towards his bed. No bombs, no knives, nothing to help out under the metal frame. He kneeled before his somewhat tidy bed and listened to the noise from the hallway. Three more trays to be picked up. Of course, none would be so hard to get as his own. After the trays were gathered, his cell light would go out, and Michael-Murray would tell himself and others to keep it down and get some sleep.
"Three….two…." The Joker put his elbows on the mattress. His fingertips leaned against each other. "One…." The last of the trays was retrieved. Michael-Murray's shoes flopped on the tile. In ten seconds the lights would be out.
Bzzz bzz bzzt….right on time. The fluorescent above him flickered out completely, emerging the Joker in darkness. The only source of light was from the hallway. From there he heard the guard.
"You guys just keep quiet for a few hours and we'll get to do it all over again tomorrow."
What a sad little existence for that man. All was silent as the door to the next corridor opened and shut, clanking with each move. A few coughs filled the air. Crane, two cells to the right of Joker, had caught a cold, the poor dear. In a matter of seconds Joseph, the guard the Joker always remembered, opened and shut the hall door. He got first watch. The Joker didn't remember Joseph because of his name, or his lack of conversational skills. He remembered Joseph, because he was the only guard the Joker had any grain of hope for. This was a guy who always had a five o'clock shadow. Recently divorced, no custody of kids. Truly a man to have fun with.
All was dark and quieted, and the Joker clasped his hands together. In a voice that almost sang, he bowed his head and spoke.
"Oh Lord, let me live another night, and you won't have to deal with me. Please send my enemies to an early grave, and please bless the good Doctor Crane with a full recovery. Please give Batman the strength to carry on until I am released at last. He's the only one in this city that makes it worth keeping." Throughout the prayer, he sounded like he could burst into laughter at any second. "In your name I pray, Amen." It was his all-time favorite joke.
He crossed himself and stood up, stretching his arms for a moment. He'd always be quiet before Joseph could bother him. He slid beneath his single white cotton sheet, and rested his head oh his thin, stiff pillow.