Fragmented
Disclaimer: I do not own TDK.
Dream.
The Joker does not usually dream. The drugs bring hallucinations; the floor pitches beneath his feet, faces bulge from the walls. But he greets these visions coldly, knows the bitter tang of their genesis. Before, in those long watches of the night, he remembers making bombs in one jumbled hideout or another, the slow warm satisfaction he takes from the skill. His dreams now are like tangled wires, colourful and elongated, leading to dead ends. His frustration spills into them; he dreams of locked doors and grey rooms, of being slowly choked with white fabric, and wakes exhausted and angry.
