I woke up, shivering, in the dark of the night. There was a cold sweat on my brow and I was breathing quick and heavy. Pillows and my blanket were tossed off the bed, onto the floor, and pale moonlight seeped into the room from the glass door of the balcony, casting strange shapes and shadows all along the room.

Pushing away the wet hair sticking to my face I fell back onto the bed, the images still swarming around in my mind. I never normally had nightmares; in actuality I rarely had any dreams at all. And if I did, I never did remember them. But this dream, (or should I say nightmare?), was different.

It swam with the Joker's pasty face alongside my mother's own pretty one. Yes, there was once a time that Ashley and I had had a mother, and she had been very pretty, I think. She had been very much like Ashley, small, petite, girly and charming. But she had been very selfish, she didn't know when to grow up, I blame this trait of hers for her death…

In the dream my mother had been dancing with that deranged clown, giggling and smiling and enjoying herself. As I watched I tried to call out to her to get away from him, but no sound could be uttered from my mouth. And I had to watch, as the Joker dipped my mother, and, instead of bringing her back up, he let my mother go, and she fell away into a black abyss that seemed to fill the dark air alongside the Joker's laugh.

I tried to follow her, but I couldn't find the way. Then there was the Joker next to me, twirling me as he tried to pick me up into a waltz. No matter how hard I tried to pull away I couldn't, he dipped me, and I too waited to enter that black abyss, for him to let go and let me die. He never did… I was stuck in the darkness with the man I hated the most in the world. His laughter echoed in my ears, sending a cold shiver up my spine.

How could my mom stare into these soulless pits of eyes and love the maniacal twinkle there? How could she have caressed this chalky white face with her delicate hands? Had she kissed these wide bloody lips with her own? I felt like I was going to heave.

Then a loud banging sound threw me from my thoughts. Shooting out of bed I grabbed onto the metal pipe I kept under my bed; a handy thing in a dangerous situation I would think. The metal was cold and heavy within my palm as I crept my way out of the room and into the dark hallway, the white walls flashed with different colors, indicating the living room television was on. My eyes flicked around, scanning everything, looking for something. Silently I glided downstairs, I was as quiet as a cat, and I found the front door askew and my sister turning the DVD player below the TV set, off.

I went and shut the door quietly, still on high alert, before heading over to my sister.

"Ash, what was that noise?" I ask, looking around cautiously.

There was a long pause before, "Nothing, just go back to bed."

I don't know why I got mad at this remark, but I did. I went over to my sister and turned her around, something told me to, and I found that her eyes were red and puffy, her face stained with tears.

"Ashley! What happened? Tell me." My voice was demanding.

She shook her head in defiance; she sniffled freely now, the tears still slightly flowing. Then realization hit me, how could it be anything else?

"It was Benson wasn't it? What did he do? Did he hurt you?" I felt my face twist with disgust and fury as I scrutinized my sisters being, "I'll kill that bastard!"

"Alex no!" Ashley's arms wrapped around me, "Please, just let me handle it. I'm the older sister, just let mehandle it." She sobbed into my tank top; all I could do was attempt to comfort her, like our mom use to do. She'd pat our backs and make nice relaxing sounds, like the cooing of a dove. And we'd fall asleep, just like that, wrapped in warmth…

There was once a time in my life when cigarettes had cured all of my emotional distress. My mother had once smoked, and I had found something beautifully soothing about the curling, bitter smoke that coiled up from the ashy tip of the white stick, glowing faintly red.

My first cigarette was at a party, it was just to try it, and I never did it again after. But when my mother died, I took it up, finding again the solace in that acrid smolder that that death stick had given off. When I was sad it bit away the tears, when I was mad it had soothed my body, and when I was frustrated it numbed my head, so I couldn't feel a thing.

I'd like to think I was never an addict; I only had a break whenever the feelings were overwhelming. Then again, when your life crumbles away from under you feet, a pause to light up a cigarette happened more often then you'd like.

Quitting wasn't that hard, I suppose. I just stopped buying it, and I took up eating instead. I may be a string bean or a noodle or whatever, but I really had gained weight after I quit; 'good weight' my sister told me.

And the only reason I'm remembering this is because of the cool night air. There were the stars again; a few winking down from lack of smog as they sat nestled in their dark cerulean shadows. The wind nipped at my skin and it reminded me of those nights when I would just sit in the back yard, cold but not caring as I puffed away, adding to the smoky grey clouds floating above me.

That was one thing about the world that would always keep me from sinking into depression like most other weak-minded humans: its unceasing cycle. I could die tomorrow and the sun would still rise and set, Gotham could crumble and still the stars would shine beautiful and bright in that vast blue sky (probably brighter and more brilliantly then before). The wind would still blow and waves would still lap up against the shore.

We could all disappear and the Earth would just keep spinning on. When people say that the world is ending, it's not, its just mankind that's ending. The world doesn't end because you die, it'll get over it. Really did it even care you were alive? Did it even know you were there? My guess is that the Earth is just fending for itself, and we humans are an inconvenience. When a natural disaster occurs, it's the Earth compensating for something, trying to fix itself, does it care that it killed those thousands of people? Doubtful.

I sigh, I was just in a bad mood because of the incident with my sister much earlier in the morning, and I was taking it out on mankind as if someone were actually listening. Ever since I quit smoking I turned to putting-down mankind and its need-for-complexity disorder.

Maybe I shouldn't go out tonight, I really didn't want Brent seeing me so grouchy. I had to suck it up…and fast, because I saw the headlights of the Camaro flash as it turned the corner onto my street. I took a deep breath before standing up and curling my lips into some kind of smile-like-thing.

When the car was up in the driveway, I quickly got in. Maybe I just needed to get away from the house to feel better. And I was right; as we pulled away Brent's usual friendly welcome warmed me up and I eased up in the seat.

I ask, "So, what are we doing today?"

"The clown doesn't really have anything for us to do today really. I was thinking we head down to this one party."

"A party?"

"Yeah." I have a feeling he's smiling under that mask, "You like parties don't you?"

I hadn't been to any parties all summer. I pause for a moment before laughing, "Love em'."