Dear poor neglected Diary ,
I am nothing more than an unremarkable woman named Harleen Frances Quinzel.
A red head that parades around as a blonde for however long she can afford the cheap color dye without sacrificing the little food she manages to put on the table.
Though it's normally a manageable feat to accomplish with only me to think about now. Since mom now lives with Dianne and her perfectly normal family in the suburbs of Metropolis without much problems.
Today, I found myself outside Dianne's little dream house leaning up against the driver side door of my old geezer of a truck.
More specifically a 1958 Ford pickup truck that just adores testing my patience and anxiety when deciding if it's going to run just fine or finally decide to depart the world with an explosive farewell.
The blinds are harshly opened to reveal half of the grumpy face of my mother as she stares out at me.
Sighing a little at her expression I debated once again if I should really go through the trouble of trying to talk to my sister before I leave for Gotham University.
Her darling glaring expression kept intensifying the closer I got to the front door . Smiling brightly I rang the doorbell meanwhile preparing myself mentally for a long wait or a quickly growing hostile confrontation.
Little Griffin,my three year old nephew answers the call of the door bell rather quickly with a bright smile and a demand for a hug.
I embraced him with an innocent smile pointed at my displeased mother who stands gripping her cane with all the strength of her anger.
Griffin soon races off to find Dianne, leaving me to face the other old geezer in my life, my dear mother, Charity Quinzel. The smile had dropped from my face as soon as Griffin vanished into the second story of this little perfect home.
" Two years ago you looked at me with such regret and sadness .Why did that regret and sorrow turn into nothing but hatred for me," I found myself asking though my common sense was screaming at me to not cause needless conflict.
It's safe to play at happy façades in this reality of perfection my sister has built in this little pretty house.
But Charity and Harleen have never been the best of actresses in each other's presences.
" Two years ago you and your sister were kidnapped for whatever reason and nearly murdered . I'm not perfect but as a mother I still worry for all my children even the disgraceful ones. As for the hatred you think you see, that's nothing more than concern.Concern for a daughter I know can do better but has no motivation to do anything that truly matters," Charity answers with her head held high as if she was an all powerful queen instead of the estranged wife of an imprisoned criminal.
Shaking my head I turned towards the stairway as my name is called by the gentle harmless voice that belonged to my sister.
A pearl necklace and a black polka dotted dress gave Dianne the look of a housewife from the 1950s.
She looked charming but a feeling of bitterness lives inside of my stomach in that moment as I stared up at her. It lingers even as I write this hours later in my college dorm room. The bitterness was something unknown, just a thing of questions perhaps even a hidden darkness.
" Why don't you take Griffin to the park mom," Dianne says in such a gentle way that mother does not seem to notice or care about being ordered around.
Griffin reluctantly puts on his coat before he is dragged out the front door by an impatient grumpy grandma Quinzel with barely enough time to wave goodbye to me.
Maybe Charity was just so grateful to have a way to flea the black sheep (me) of the family that she did not care that her own child was ordering her around.
" Do you have any common sense," Dianne questions me as she makes her way down the wooden steps and the family car engine is fired up in the driveway.
" Sorry," I found myself saying without a hint of emotion as I focused on my sister's pearl necklace and the dread it inspired me to feel.
"Griffin does not need to see such needless conflicts especially between his aunt and grandmother," She says in that same gentle harmless tone that was nothing but a stubborn façade.
The family car leaves the driveway, racing down the street like a bat out of hell without anymore thoughts about us.
" I'm going to college and I would like my sister now… my real sister if that's reasonable," I almost whispered as my nails dig into the palms of my hands.
Dianne smiles gently before I found myself being thrown harshly against the door .
" What college," she asks in that stupid fake innocent perfect voice.
I found myself answering her without much thought as I checked the back of my head for any blood.
"Good for you Harleen, you're finally doing something with your life that has some meaning. If that's all get out of my life, don't forget to work hard now," Dianne says gently as she touches those haunting dreadful pearls with shaking hands.
" Stop just for a second with the act I just want my sister back for a second," I begged as I climbed to my feet carefully.
" Use some common sense Harleen just for a moment and leave," She hisses softly as her silver eyes danced with a truthful glarful nature .
" Why would you want your sister or who you think is your real sister back ," Dianne asks when after a long few minutes of waiting realizes I'm not quite ready to leave.
" Maybe because façades never made us happy in the past. I was hoping that just for a moment the façades could die and we could be happy again," I whispered to Dianne as I played with a loose blonde strand of hair instead of looking her in the eye.
I was playing the classic coward but at least this time I was not running or standing frozen in terror at the displeasure of my older sister.
She slapped my hand leaving the strand of hair to escape from its hold .
" Happiness is simply a game of chance and determination. We all play pretend until we find happiness or we lose the drive to escape the façades that make us sad. Maybe you are playing with the wrong lie sister. Perhaps it's time to pick a new mask to wear during this masquerade of life ," Dianne said with her silver eyes painted with a bitter truth I found hard to understand or know.
She smiled at me then told me it was time to go .
My sister has not smiled at me since we thought we were both going to die two years ago in some poorly lit basement by the hands of some masked psychopaths.
I miss that smile.
It had been one of the few things I could trust to tell me that at least my sister loved me.
Though thinking about it now perhaps it was yet another façade .
Created by my sister not to trick me but to mislead God into thinking she had been a repentant sinner that deserved Heaven .
I doubt there is a God but one can never be too careful.
Harleen knows façade murdered her happiness even before she drew her first breath but still she embraces it with all the trust in the universe.
She's tired and it's not like anyone would care if she played the role of the tragic reject who pretends to be perfect until she finally dies.
I'm sorry… so sorry for whatever the fuck I did to have to be Harleen Frances Quinzel ,an unremarkable woman who knows nothing of happiness or…. Love.
:
Dear dead piece of some unknown tree,
Dianne had been named for a murdered childhood friend of my fathers who my mother later learned had also been his first wife.
I was named for my dad's favorite bike, a Harley Davidson and a crazy crackhead great aunt who was called France.
Dad named everyone of his children except for his first and only son.
Charity after a long while decided to write the Quinzel name down onto my brothers birth certificate reluctantly accepting him as her child.
"Where dad at," I had asked her as she sat in a cheap uncomfortable chair beside my hospital bed .
" Probably fucking some unimportant whore sweetie," Charity had hissed through her teeth uncaring for the fact no three year old should ever hear such a thing leave the mouth of her own mother.
"Is auntie France okay mama," I dared to ask even with annoyance burning in her eyes leaving little me to look away from her with intense uneasiness.
" They said you were conscious for most of the massacre that happened down at Reeds theater so you should know little idiot," She said with her wraithful attention focusing back on the birth certificate in her hands.
" Kid got any name ideas for your little mistake of a brother ? They can even be stupid sounding for all I care," Charity asks again with tired blues eyes look expectantly at me for a quick answer.
"Where's auntie France at mom," I try again a slight fear echoing throughout the short whispered statement.
Charity rolls her eyes before looking at me with a smile and whispers the childish version of a gun going off.
" She is probably fucking the devil right now sweetie. Okay no more questions just give me a name for this brat so I can go home," Charity says absentmindedly, completely forgetting ( not caring) about why her daughter was in a hospital bed.
Little me was safe from feeling anymore of the burning pain of a gunshot wound due to the efforts of pain medicine but the memory of it was coming back in hazy shards.
Auntie France in a rare show of class had worn an expensive dress of blue silk that night with a face of perfectly done make up along with tastefully put together hair.
Even I looked fine that evening having abandoned my normal hand me down clothes for a new finely made dress of a rose pink shade .
Smiles were everywhere as Auntie France took me to the Reeds theater to watch a play entitled Macbeth with some of her closest friends.
As we watched the eerie scene of three chanting witches dancing around their cauldron from the box seat we heard a man speak from behind us," A tragedy watching a tragedy what a tragic sight but what a perfect end dear France Quinzel."
Auntie had turned her head slightly towards the man with a dying shadow of a smile on her face. Whatever she saw when she looked at that man she refused to let me turn to watch with her.
When one of her friends screamed the first gun shot rang out leaving the poor woman to fall from the box and into the shocked audience below. Then more screams began followed by an endless requiem of fired bullets that always seemed to hit their targets with such deadly precision.
" Close your eyes," Auntie France ordered as the gun fire ended for a long draw out moment .
" I'm sorry Harleen," Auntie France spoke for one final time before she threw me in front of her, right into the line fire just as the massacre began again.Finger snapping was what dragged me away from that confusing betrayal dripping memory and back into reality.
"Harleen what do you remember," Charity had asked gently as she forced me to look into her fearful blue eyes.
" Dad had a gun," I choked out as tears trailed down my face . Glaring down at me she roughly wiped away those useless childish tears.
"What's the play that you were watching at the theater," Charity demanded with a cautious look towards the opened hospital door.
" Macbeth," I answered right away which earned a small grin from my mother.
" Let's play a game sweetie. Whenever someone asks about Auntie France or this accident at the theater you will go into a freaked out crying annoying state and simply shout Macbeth on the top of your lungs. If you do that Harleen Fances Quinzel your father will not come back and send you off to where your dear Auntie is at right now understand," Charity whispered angrily into my ear .
" Macbeth ...Macbeth ...Macbeth ," I found myself shouting until nurses rushed into the room and Charity put on the mask of a concerned mother.
When the nurses finally left the room Charity pulled out a cigarette to smoke finally for a long moment looking truly content with what life had granted for her to have.
A little while later a detective I think by the name of Jack ...Jamie no James Gordon had came by to ask me a few questions about what they now call the Massacre of Reeds theatre ( How creative).
All he got from little me was a screaming symphony of Macbeth and a needless sight of tears. Poor me… poor man he seemed like a nice guy maybe it is a good thing Gordon is commissioner of Gotham now.
After Gordon left, mother had a long laughing fit that she struggled to keep at a reasonable level of volume.
She was still shaking from the laughing fit when she sat in that uncomfortable seat writing on my brother's birth certificate.
"Macbeth … What a great name for a horrible useless son. That was a good idea you had Harleen. I'm proud of you ," Charity said cheerfully with her eyes glaring down into my blue ones.
When I had been liberated from my captivity alongside my sister, mother showered us with concern and hugs.
Dad had called me from the prison with a short statement of I'm glad you're alive before hanging up on the phone without letting me say one word.
Macbeth sent me a picture of a graffiti smiley face on the side of some old railroad car ( that one actually felt like it meant something genuine) .
Graduation came with me at the top of my class but I had none of my family there to congratulate me for that or any other achievement at all.
When the phone calls began I did not really have the motivation to answer. But the calls never ended so I decided to flip a coin.
Heads was for answer the stupid thing.
Tails was for just throwing it out the window and hoping it would shut up.
It landed on heads leaving me to curse fate.
Almost immediately after hitting accept call Macbeth starts to talk ," Were both free Harleen. No more college for you and no more Blackgate prison for me. Let's actually do something fun for a change and catch up. It's been three freaking years already sister!"
I almost tell him no but he has already given me the address and the advice to wear something decent before hanging up the phone.
I did not even get to say a single word during that entire exchange ( father like son I fucking guess).
I wonder what fate would think of this.
Heads , go spend time with my criminal little brother.
Tails , I go practice gymnastics or sleep during my last few days of freedom before beginning work at Arkham asylum.
Heads it is I hate this piece of shit of a coin .
Look on the bright side Harleen at least it's not any of your other family members ( hopefully).
It might be normal law abiding fun. Fun is okay . If it is not fun just pretend like it is the most exciting thing ever.
Harleen just wear a mask that suits this situation and happiness of some sort will follow...probably .
:
Dear nameless diary,
Curiosity had forced me to wake early with a thousand worries about the address my brother had given me over that short phone call.
A thousand worries forced me out of my crappy apartment in search of where my brother wanted to meet later that day.
" Macbeth is a bloody sheep," I tell my old geezer truck as I drive by the Iceberg Lounge,the answer to my worries and curiosity.
Not even a month out of blackgate and he is already likely working for yet another crime boss… THE FUCKING PENGUIN !
Breath Harleen breath don't waste your anger on a person that is simply living his life the way he was conditioned to.
Father was a treacherous sheep and he taught his son to follow in his footsteps .
It's father's fault that by some chance Macbeth had it in his head that it was a grand idea to sell his sister out to penguin ( perhaps he had to .)
As a sister maybe I should be worried for my little brother but dear nameless diary it takes all my common sense to keep anger from taking over .
Anger in power would stomp over towards my small hope chest to rip off its wooden lid before gathering every keepsake that held any memories of Macbeth with only the purpose of burning them to oblivion.
Anger would not care if the entire shitty apartment building was set aflame killing every poor innocent or vile bastard inside .
Anger would not mind that perhaps that I would be wallowing away in some holding cell down at the GCPD before the morning even ended.
Anger was simply a killer that wanted desperately to play the old evil game of violence that Harleen held it back from.
Bright thoughts would make it better if by some chance I could focus only on that .
When driving home after finding the answer to curiosities dreaded question I found myself being pulled over by some random rare goody two shoes cop for speeding.
I had looked at the young confident figure of a police officer that was clearly still wet behind the ears through the slightly cracked rear view mirror with a sigh of annoyance.
Naivety I thought with a small smile as tears welled up in my eyes making them hold the appearance of an unfortunate broken woman.
Bloody fool I had hissed at myself as I happened to realize suddenly that I had rushed out of my apartment without changing out of my pajamas.
Pajamas that just happened to have bloody penguins all over them ( I must confess, dear nameless diary I butchered them with scissors almost as soon as I got back to my apartment).
The cop was most definitely green with the look of surprise he had at the first sight of my tears ,bedhead and penguin pajamas( you will see much worst buddy so get used to it).
I played the character of a broken girl in a tale of the seemingly endless grief caused by a recent death in the family.
In the end the handsome poor sap officer Noble gave me a simple warning for driving nearly a hundred in a neighborhood with a 30 miles per hour speed limit.
Noble made a horrible attempt at a lecture about the importance of driving safety before I ended that with an "uncontrollable" ugly sob that led him to shower me in sympathy.
He even asked if there was anyone he could call to come and pick me up ( He is just too nice.His parents must be proud of him but Gotham is going to eat him alive).
Of course I said no and after some convincing I drove away without any other stops on my way back home.
Annoyance still races throughout my mind as I sit here writing you dear diary.
Annoyance I find is the first stage of the take over plan that anger has for all of us.
Bright thoughts kill both annoyance and anger at times so I will try that I guess.
Okay...here it goes.. a minute ago Selina Kyle just called to tell me her grandma Birdie has commanded that all of us must meet for a book club meeting a little later today.
Also there is another thing though it is a little morbid but it's still a little funny for those that appreciate dark humor.
I told a lie about being a girl suffering from the grief of losing a loved one.
Selina Kyle was a little tearful during her call to me apparently it was because her other grandma , Beatrice, Birdie's wife, had just passed away .
Perhaps this is the butterfly effect that I have been told about in action, interesting really.
Beatrice had an addiction to reading books so perhaps they are having the book club meeting today in her honor.
I will write later on today.
I have to get ready to go to this meeting after all because that's what a good friend would do. Selina Kyle after all is my very "dear friend".
:
Dear Diary,
The book club was normally more of a zealous cult but today it was simply a tiny pathetic mournful affair.
"Hello ,"Selina whispered to me with a glassy blue gaze that barely seemed to notice the small frown forming on my face.
" What was that Selina," I asked her in a tone of poorly concealed annoyance from my spot in the doorway of our club's gathering room.
She crossed her arms with a raised eyebrow and she went on to ask me if I was deaf(which I wished I was after hearing such a stupid basic form of greeting note: The sarcasm here diary) because she had said hi to me at a loud enough level for me to hear .
" When you play the Game of Thrones you win or you die,"I said with a small smile as Selena rolled her still glassy eyes before saying we were here to be somber not to play pretend at being happy by doing normal joyful stupid things.
"Somber times are for funerals not book clubs. If anything we all need this time to get away from the grimness of our reality's," I say with a small sigh as I begin to walk inside the room.
Selina scoffs at me before her attention goes back to the safe wonderland in her mind far away from this world . I stood in the middle of this small gathering sighing yet again with my eyes closed while I thought about how I could lighten the mood.
" Tradition is golden to me and should at all costs be preserved for the old ways I follow are not the ways of foolish stupid elders,"I say using the old raspy smokers voice of the now dearly departed Beatrice.
Selina looked up at me with a glare as I asked her who she thought this lovely quote came from. From my right to my great regret ( annoyance) someone begins to sob in the most horrible ugly way possible.
" Val..ar Mor...ghul..is," Granny Birdie who looks like the mourning Spanish doppelgänger of Queen Victoria sobs before rushing over to hug me.
Simple classic greetings here at this Book club are insults or plain shows of uncreative laziness.
Hellos were always boring to the now departed Beatrice so she came up with a new honestly childish way of saying hi. Quotes from the current books we are reading were to become these childish greetings.
"Mrs.Birdie are you okay," asks the hesitant voice of a pretty shy girl named Vicki Val that I could hardly stand for longer than a few minutes.
(She was a weak little creature that I had found crying in a roach infested bar a few months ago. Now she is a tearless shy perfectionist that according to Birdie has the potential to do something marvelous in the fashion world or wherever her little precious heart takes her.Im rolling my eyes at that one. Perhaps she has potential for something great but fear makes her nothing but a cowardly follower content on always treading in everyone else's shadow.)
Birdie waves her off with a little forced smile as she makes quick work of wiping away her tears and straightening her mourning gown .
" Idiot me I should have remembered to wear the water proof massacre ..Oh.. I mean mascara… Soy estúpido," Birdie says to me with a grimace as I try to catch my breath after her suffocating embrace.
" Birdie you look like a crazed raccoon," I say smiling a little at the outraged look that crosses Vicki's face for a moment ( I almost hoped that she had some fire in her in those short few seconds.But the wraithful expression is a dying ember which soon fades away until her face is back to its classic shy sad appearance.)
Birdie rolls her eyes and smiles at me with a fondness that is reserved for a grandparents prized grandchild.
" Beatrice would not want us to be ruining her precious book club with mourning and tears that are not connected to character deaths … Poor Ned … or something like that. So in her honor and in order to protect our souls from her vengeful spirit let's stick to the tradition of Beatrice Angelica Bartholomew Kyle's book club," Birdie says quickly as she made a point to stare expectantly at Selina when she spoke of following tradition .
Selina rolled her blue eyes that hardly seemed to hold the appearance of being glassy anymore.
" Fear cuts deeper than swords … or something like that...Gran is grandma's wrathful spirit at peace now … no wait a minute I still have to do the tradition of insulting people that I care about. I knew I should have brought Isis," Selina says sarcastically with a small smirk growing on her face until she noticed her gran's glare.
"Okay fine Harleen your hair is not the pleasant blonde shade you think it is. It's more on the side of being a pumpkin color if I want to be nice. Viki … It's your turn," Selina says, purposely avoiding insulting her gran ( who can hardly take any criticism from anyone without having a foul temper even if that criticism does not come out of nowhere) and not bothering to deal with the fragile feelings of precious pathetic Vicki.
" Um… winter is coming and I don't really want to insult anyone sorry ," Vicki said softly with a small apologetic smile on her face.
Birdie tells her it's fine but she is going to be on her own if Beatrice's wrathful spirit comes back to haunt her. Selina and I just look at each other with a smile that is dangerously close to turning into laughter.
Birdie is in the middle of a passionate speech about how much Joffrey is a vile incest created cockroach when I am forced into a problematic text messaging conversation with my little brother.
Annoying pest( Macbeth)- Remember I love you and you're the best sister in the world… so I'm sorry about this. I know this is short notice but… look before I tell you anything please know that I'm really sorry!
Harleen Q.: Does it have something to do with dear old penguin and maybe how you're working for him? Along with the fact it looks to me at the very least that there is a very big chance that you're trying to drag me into whatever shit show you're currently in!
Annoying pest(Macbeth): I should never have given you the address to where we were going. I'm an idiot but I'm an idiot that is very sorry.
Harleen Q.: Dad was around long enough to teach you how to not be a coward so tell me the truth.
Annoying pest(Macbeth): There's been a change of plans we are not going to the Iceberg lounge tonight. We are going to Penguins mansion which is Falcone's old place instead. Want me to pick you up?
Harleen Q.: I have no interest in getting involved in whatever is going on. Leave me alone Macbeth I just got my life together.
Annoying pest ( Macbeth): Griffin is going to be there waiting for his aunt .
Harleen Q.: What the fuck is going on Macbeth!
Annoying pest (Macbeth): A masquerade at Penguins mansion is what the fuck is going on Harleen. I will pick you up at 8:30 . Penguin wants you to bring Birdie, Selina Kyle and Vicki Vale with you. I do apologize for the lateness of the information I'm giving you but it should be easy to find an outfit for the event with Birdie's help. Love you and don't forget about Griffin please.
I wanted to kill something in the moments following Macbeth's final text message so I quietly excuse myself to the bathroom.
In Birdie's neon green and pink bathroom I smashed my cell phone onto the counter until it was broken into a hundred different pieces.
I gathered up the pieces before throwing them out the window which was five stories above the ground. My little episode of rage leaves the counter covered in scratches and a few small dents.
" Harleen, are you okay," Vicki asked as she watched me with wide eyes from the doorway of the bathroom.
I'm fine I tell Vicki with a glare that seems to say be quiet or you will regret it. She looks to the floor with her hands shaking at her side. Her teeth bite down on her bottom lip until it nearly begins to bleed.
"You are going to a party tonight Vicki stop looking so sad," I say with a smile as I brush past her before walking back to our small gathering.
Birdie is shaking with excitement at the news of going to the party, never once questioning why we had all been invited to such a peculiar event.
Selina eyed me suspiciously as she told her gran gently that it was perhaps not the best idea to go to the party, especially after she had been up all night crying about planning her beloved Beatrice's funeral.
" We went to Vegas with only a few dollars to our names the day after my goldfish, Beatrice's second son , and my niece's elephant died. All we did in Vegas was party and gamble but we came back to Gotham rich . So going off and doing something fun like going to a masquerade right after a tragedy is not a bad thing," Birdie says to Selina before waving her off as she declares that the book club meeting was now at an end.
" You do know this is the Penguin's party right Gran," Selina says just as Birdie is about to walk out of the room.
Old Birdie stopped in the doorway for a moment before she turned to look at her granddaughter with a smirk then said ," I once shot Carmine Falcone nearly killing him back in the day. His family did not even try to come after me for revenge. I have known Oswald Cobblepot nearly since the day he was born and he used to call me mom.Relax though I am not his actual mother if I had a son like that I would have killed him already . Anyways Selina stop worrying I think we will all be fine."
" With that Birdie calls Vicki over to help her and the both of them disappear down the hall.
" How did Beatrice die anyways," I say to the wraithful Selina hoping that the question would make her more sad then angry .
Selina's rage stills for a moment and a look of weary annoyance settles upon her features.
"The joker said she died of a heart attack while she was giving him a few chapters of bloody game of thrones to read,"Selina said looking very unconvinced .
" What caused the heart attack ," I inquired expecting the cause of it to be partly due to the sinister actions of the joker at the very least .
" Gran said it was something natural but when I asked to see grandma's body she wouldn't let me see it ,"Selina said softly, her sadness completely replacing her rage.
A small smile came to cover my face as I looked her directly in the eye and promised her that I would find out what really happened to her grandma.
With blue eyes now glassy once again she hissed through her teeth that I better not get any of us killed tonight.
She rushed out the door after that trying but failing to keep her sobs from being heard by anyone.
It seems my wish was granted, Selina is more sad then angry ( Now I don't need to worry about getting a black eye from her at the very least.)
I'm outside Gotham Zoo sitting in my old geezer of a truck writing to you dear nameless diary( who I really need to name).
About 3 years ago I was stalking my sister and her son ,Griffin in this same zoo. When Griffin came upon the hyena exhibit for some reason he fell in love with those vile creatures.
He lingered around that exhibit for about 30 minutes before his mother finally lost her temper and dragged him into the air-conditioned Reptile exhibit to escape the heat.
" Bye Bud ! I will come back and name your brother later. I know you don't like being named after demons," Griffin screamed right before his mother pulled him away from the view of the hyenas ( Who have been stalking him since they first caught sight of him.)
Curiosity at his comment about demons forced me to get closer to the exhibit where I found a plaque introducing the vile creatures by name .
The hyena covered in scars and without half of his right ear was called Lucifer while the other who was blind in one eye was called Satan.
" Bud," I had whispered softly, wondering if by some chance Griffin's name choice had been accepted by one of the hyenas.
Lucifer had tilted his head to the side for a long moment as if he was deciding upon something very important then he began to cackle.
I turned away after that and made my way out of the zoo no longer interested in following my estranged family around.
Griffin came to name the blind one Lou for some reason. The plaque next to their exhibit still says that their names are Lucifer and Satan sadly.
I guess I could use the sharpie in the glove compartment to write their true names in place of the false ones inscribed upon that stupid plaque.
I would do it in honor of Griffin just in case we all end up dead tonight.
Maybe if Bud and Lou had acted like they were as fond of Griffin as he was of them perhaps I would have brought them to the masquerade tonight.
The thought of them having Penguin for dinner is splendid.
But I'm sort of thankful that they will be staying here at Gotham Zoo tonight.
A hyenas laughter is an terrifying thing.
P.S. I wonder if Selina was being truthful when she said my hair looked to be a pumpkin color?
:
Dear diary,
I used a sharpie to slash away those demon names from that stupid plague I was talking about earlier .
Right above the ebony massacre I wrote in sloppy cursive Bud and Lou these beast's real names at least in Griffin's and I's minds .
Lou was snoring happily away in a pile of vile smelling mud and Bud had been glaring at me the entire time I was doing this .
" Do you like being named after a fallen angel or something," I had asked the ugly scared beast after my work of renaming them was as official as it was going to get.
Bud answered me with a yellow fanged filled grin and an endless shriek of laughter.
The laughter was of a mocking nature which caused my body to begin trembling as an understandable rage and a confusing fear took over my mind.
" You know Griffin could be dead tonight," I hissed to Bud hoping somewhere in his stupid mind he'd come to realize what a terrible truth that was.
Lou's loud snores soon came to an end and was replaced with another endless melody of laughter far more annoying than his brothers .
I wondered silently as I gazed into Bud's golden narrowed eyes if hyenas were capable of having empathy .
Griffin throughout the three years since he first fell in love with these creatures has gone on to do so many heartfelt unnecessary things for them.
He had noticed that they did not seem to have a birthday so he gave them one.
Somehow he talked Charity into helping him sneak giant meat pies into the zoo for these ungrateful hyenas to enjoy.
Griffin had even purchased them each a bloody brand new teddy bear for their made up birthdays.
Bud ate his teddy bear about as soon as he got a hold of it and Lou ate most of his besides the poor toys head which he carried around as a trophy.
Griffin had simply laughed at the sight before giving the greedy creatures their giant meat pie birthday cake thing.
Charity had gazed upon the spectacle with a strange thoughtful look before she gently told Griffin that they had to get home soon.
For his young age he had argued quite viciously against going back home . I expected Charity to slap him at the very least for his defiance but the only thing she did was patiently stand her ground with a gentle smile .
Slowly they traveled away from the hyena exhibit with Griffin dragging his heels all the way.
Bud and Lou shadowed their snail paced movements with wide gleaming eyes and wagging tails that seemed to plead relentlessly for just another scrap of food.
These hideous creatures are nothing but skin and bones so I can't really fault them for their constant merciless pleads for food.
The old Gotham Zoo has found itself in recent years to often be one of the last concerns on everyone's mind so it's became a place of careless neglect that is held together by rare kindness and duck tape ( Probably... if they can even afford that ).
" I still don't know why my son adores them so much," a familiar voice says from behind me in her classic heartwarming calm tone .
Bud's laugher intensifies even more than before along with the hatred residing in his golden glaring gaze at the sound of my sisters voice.
Lou's now trembling body shies away from us with his tail tucked between his legs at the sound of her voice.
Strangely I only experience a subtle moment of mellow surprise at the discovery of her being here .
" I don't have any idea either, " I find myself saying when I really wanted to demand to know why Dianne sounded so put together with her son missing ?
Bud lunged at the bars of his cage with fangs and claws searching restlessly for a way to paint themselves crimson with our blood. Bud was no longer paying me any mind his sole focused was on the chuckling woman that lingered behind me.
"There is no need to hate or fear me so calm down Bud and come over here Lou because I brought a peace offering," Dianne says gently while I hear the sound of her pulling something out of the bag.
For some reason I don't have the urge to look at my sister even when she comes to stand beside me.
Bud's pursuit for a massacre quiets at the sight of whatever Dianne holds in her hands as a offering.
His gold eyes are wide and innocent like as he licks his lips at the sight of what seems to be a most appetizing meal . She shoved her peace offering through the bars unbothered by the rotting scent that swarms from it.
The decapitated head tumbled into the Bud's mouth where it was ripped to shreds by his starving fangs.
Lou stands trembling on the far side of the enclosure looking at his brothers gruesome display with poorly concealed terror.
Clumps of ginger hair , small fragments of the skull and a half eaten azul grey eye ball Is all that remains in the aftermath of the feast .
" Did you just fed our dad's head to a fucking starving hyena of all things," I say with a detached sarcasm right before I started to laugh with tears trailing down my face.
" No Harleen I fed my husband's head to a bloody starving hyena of all things," Dianne says with a light chuckle before she digs her probably perfectly done manicured nails into my skull.
" I wish I could fed you, father, and Macbeth to those hyenas after what you have done to my life! You guys just had to fuck around with Penguin and leave me to suffer alone at the hands of that bastards rage! I'm am being hunted ... Griffin and Mom's lives are in that psychopaths hands! Harleen Francis Quinzel your going to fix this and give me back the life I deserve ," Dianne shouts in my ear as a blade comes to linger dangerously close to my throat.
"I will save Griffin but I'm not in the mood to rescue Charity , " I begin with a small smile as I wondered why I didn't really care about my sister's threat against my life (Maybe I'm in shock) .
" Why did you do that to your husband," I inquired after a short time of silence.
" Because he was a coward," My sister answered softly as she removed her nails from my hair and dropped the knife.
I spared a glance at Dianne as I imaged what it would be like to chock her to death. To see her lips turn azul and her silver eyes become poisoned with frozen terror while the grim reaper willed her spirt away from the world would have been prefect sight .
But the effort it would take to create that reality was to much labor on my part for someone like Dianne Quinzel.
She no longer held the appearance of a fucking picture perfect 50's housewife who never did a single thing wrong.
The Dianne Quinzel of today was a wide eyed lost woman clothed in a stained ripped sunshine colored dress who was powerless to change her fate.
" Harleen you will save both of them," Dianne dared to command me while her chipped fifthly nails broke the skin on the palms of her hands.
I raised an eyebrow at her then looked pointedly at the newly abandoned knife laying on the concrete with a smile.
Before I realized what happened the knife had became mine and it came to rest against Dianne's neck.
She was pinned against the bars of the hyena's prison's with the terrifying knowledge of her mortality flashing through her eyes.
Bud and Lou were standing together again and laughing. An shaky apology was being given to me by someone who has always been my better.
Serial killers often talk about their addiction to the power they feel when they hold someone's fate in their hands. Victims who liberated themselves from their oppressors often speak of the feeling of empowerment they experience after gaining their freedom.
I search for those awarding emotions desperately as I hold that stupid knife against my sisters throat but discover nothing. She whispers another desperate apology to me in pursuit of preserving her life.
I roll my eyes then say," Your husband may have been a coward but your a fucking liar. Goodbye sister." Her eyes widen after my words and she waited to die . I left her outside that hyena enclosure alive.
I write this entry in a Robinson park while I daydream about a life where I had been gifted a sister who loved me.
A dead blue bird lays next to the park bench I sit at. I discover myself sparing quick glances at the poor little creature with a smile.
Perhaps this bird had been pleasantly innocent but unfortunately it reminds me of my great wish that by all means may never come to pass.
" I want to kill the Penguin," I dare to whisper to the blue birds corpse while I silently hope no one over heard me.
:
Dear diary,
My reality for a long time is a poorly constructed narrative of random chaotic scenes of times that seemed to have come to pass long ago.
The future and present were dead to me until a scarred man swinging a pocket watch in front of my eyes commanded that it lived for me again.
But even that moment of clarity was short-lived for as I hissed that I hated him for some unknown reason , reality was dying around me again.
Just as the darkness was about to conquer my vision completely the scarred man threw the pocket watch to the side and pulled my face closer towards his.
Chains dug into my arms and legs until the burning feeling of skin breaking forced tears to rush down my face.
" Why would you ever hate me Child ," The scarred man asked softly right before I realized that I no longer had a right hand.
" I saved you from a bitter truth that would have broken you…so what's the point of hating me," the scarred man whispered just before the darkness of the abyss claimed me.
My final farewell to reality for a long time at least was an echoing scream that was haunted by the poltergeists of confusion and suffering.
The next sight of the waking world was a pair of familiar glassy blue eyes staring down at me.
The annoying persistent beeping of a heart monitor filled my ears as I found myself stumbling over the words that would have formed an apology.
With a single glare Selina silences my dialogue of nonsense words.
" Do you remember what happened the night of the masquerade," Selina asks her glaring eyes searching desperately for any inkling of an answer hidden amongst my oddly expressionless features.
I found myself slowly shaking my head no to her question as I silently wished that she would just leave me be. She did not stop glaring so I made it my current life's mission to ignore her.
Over Selina's shoulder there was a dated television playing episodes of Tom and Jerry so I made that the key point of all my focus.
( Thinking about it now as I write this I recall very few memories from my childhood that had been me simply sitting in front of a tv watching some mindless show. I'm 26 years old and I have never set foot in a movie theater. My first time seeing a play was also the first time I witnessed someone being murdered…then there was also the fact that my father shot me. Speaking of my father what even happened to him and everyone else the night of the masquerade.)
" Birdie's in a coma. Vicki and I can't remember what happened and you lost your fucking hand. The penguins and basically all of his party guests were burnt to death in Falcone's mansion. Everyone that managed to survive can't bloody remember anything ," Selina hisses at me after she makes a point to block my view of the delightful scene of Jerry beating Tom with a pan.
I simply shrug halfheartedly at Selina before I begin to quietly debate if I should try to go back to sleep or not. Selina bites down on her bottom lip as a sleeping wraithful dragon begins to awaken in her eyes.
Vicki stops Selina from hitting my newly amputated hand mid swing.
"Why don't you go tell the nurse that Harleen woke up," Vicki ordered with a rare nearly extinct iron will that forces me to grin up at her with lightly bleeding cracked lips.
Selina took a moment to compose herself before departing the room with clenched fists.
My grin soon fell away after that as a sharp burning pain shot throughout my body.
A scream was caught in my throat and my eyes were wide rushing rivers.
Vicki was glaring down at me as she pressed all her weight down upon what remained of my right arm.
When I raised my left arm to push her away Vicki wrapped her hands around my neck.
Black spots soon became the main focal point of my reality as I struggled against Vicki's hold.
Her brown eyes were filled with tears as she strangled me to death.
The fight was useless, a voice whispered somewhere in the closing end darkness of my mind.
"D..on..t," I managed to choke out before the last of the oxygen leaves my lungs.
" That's what my boyfriend shouted right before you shot him in the head and left me alone covered in his blood… NEXT to his body," Vicki seemed to yell into my ear while reality died around me again.
I thought that death was all there was left for me.
Instead the scarred man with his swaying pocket watch dragged me away from the abyss again.
This time half of my arm was gone…
As I screamed and cried I silently begged a God I no longer trusted to... please… save me.
The scarred man simply smiled mockingly at me and said," The divine being you're praying to is a powerless fantasy. I am the only God and Devil here, child."
:
Dear diary,
I was once an optimistic child trapped in an endless cycle of fleeting happiness.
One moment I could be sitting quietly on a bed with Dianne braiding my hair while she went about singing her favorite songs in the loudest untrained pitch possible.
I remember holding in my laughter and hiding my smiles from her in between complimenting her just "brilliant" singing.
It always seemed to me that the longer she seemed to sing , laugh or do any action that would be painted as content behavior would lead to my life being a bit more joyful.
I learned from a very young age that my role in my mothers eyes at least was to always make my sister smile.
What mother saw as right and wrong made up all the rules that we , her children would live by… at least during the long absences of our father.
So even if I wanted to play outside with the other children I would never ask to because Dianne would almost always frown at the thought of dealing with them.
Little me was never troubled much by this tragic arrangement that I happily obeyed for years without question.
For with my sacrifice of childhood friendship I received a sliver of familial love I desperately wanted.
After Dianne was done experimenting with my hair and singing horrible renditions of pretty songs I would be dragged before our mothers vanity.
I would make a show of studying my hairdo with a cruel critical gaze in the mirror which often inspired a flash of worry to dance throughout my older sister gaze.
Before doubt could destroy her confidence completely and leave her frowning I would smile brightly up at her as I demanded that we show mother this masterpiece.
To be completely honest Dianne was surprisingly talented with styling hair for only being nine years old so thankfully not all of my praise was a lie.
Mother would wander into her bedroom upon hearing all of our commotion with a raised eyebrow that silently demanded to know what the fuck was going on?
Dianne would show off her masterpiece to a now proudly grinning Charity Quinzel.
Once during one of these moments Charity had been in such an amused mood that she brought out her expensive makeup for us to play with .
Dianne ended up looking like a blue alien with purple lips. While I came to adopt the look of a clown with a wide poorly put together red grin.
When we both turned to ask what she thought of our makeup skills Charity had hugged us and dared to say she loved us … Both.
A week later I was beat up at school by some older kids that my sister had wronged in some sort of stupid way.
I limped home alone crying as the pain traveled throughout my small body and their harsh words echoed in my mind.
Just as I was about to the door of our apartment it opened to reveal the form of my father.
" Did you win," He asked me after studying the cuts and bruises that decorate my body for a few moments.
" No," I said with a weak voice that was fighting so desperately to sound strong.
" Did you fight the best that you could Harleen," My father asked with narrowed eyes.
My answer to his question once again was a bitter no .
" I wish God would have created you to be something more than a victim Harley," My father said as he brushed past me without telling me how long it would be until he came home again.
Charity was drunk and raging in the kitchen when I came through the front door of the apartment.
She stumbled towards me with a hatful demon controlling her voice and body.
Little me never bothered to run away or raise a hand towards her in self defense when she was like this.
My only act of defiance towards her was a rare truly happy smile.
The reason behind it was the fact that Macbeth and Dianne were not here to see this… this kind of thing always made them frown… I never wanted to be the reason why they were sad.
Charity dragged me by my hair to her vanity where she had a pair of scissors and a dead potted plant waiting.
First, she slaughtered my long red hair with a few thousand zealous careless snips from the scissors.
Second, she dumped the soil and remains of the neglected plant on my head.
Then bugged her nails into my skull until I began to cry and bleed.
But still the ghost of a smile remained on my face desperately wanting to not gift her the reward of seeing me completely broken.
" I hate you," she shouted after a long time of glaring at the reflection of my eyes in the mirror.
My smiled died, reducing me to being what my father said God created me to be.
It was my 7th birthday on this bullshit world when I finally got enough common sense to not be a stupid hopeful optimistic idiot."
The scarred man with his pocket watch had the power to know everything about me.
He forced memories good and bad to the surface of my subconscious without a concern for my screams and pleads for him to stop.
I was in a living hell but I still feared death.
He had me convinced that if I were to die here the only fate left for me in the afterlife would be a far worse hell then this living one.
So when he held a gun to my head and ordered me to tell him the story of how the optimistic child that I once was died ... I eagerly followed his will .
"Forget them and move on," had been the final words the scarred man said to me before I was sentenced to the abyss again.
It was barely a day after the night of the masquerade when Batman found my unconscious body amongst the old rubble of Gotham Cathedral.
Selina and Birdie were missing and no one seemed to noticed.
My father, Macbeth, Charity and Griffin were missing and no one seemed to notice as well.
Vicki came to my hospital room with a bouquet of black roses without a thought about their obvious symbolism.
Vicki does not remember a single thing about Birdie, Selina or ... anyone of them.
Vicki has just got a cat by the name Isis ... that.. was Selina's cat.
The penguin and his guests are presumed to have perished in a fire.
No one asks how Vicki and I survived?
I wonder if we ever even made it to the masquerade that night?
What can I do in this bloody situation but to forget and move on.
I can't fight against someone that can control another person's mind may it be through fear or...something that can't really be explained.
:
Dear very neglected diary,
Arkham can be a real shit show especially when the psychopaths are on duty.
I am referring to the doctors , guards ,and other members of staff not the criminal patients.
Though that does not mean that these uniquely...troubled minds are not a pain in the ass.
In the month that I have worked at Arkham two residents have tried to rip out my eyes and a female that was once my patient attempted to grope me in the middle of group therapy.
Those are just a few of the inconveniences out of a great many that had troubled me during this month.
Each inconvenience was handled by me long before the guards decided to save what they thought was a blonde bombshell damsel.
To be honest I want to fucking help my patients but Jonathon Crane just loves ' gifting' me his hopeless or plain boring cases.
The days drag on in a repeating cycle of inconveniences and often sexist actions of my call leagues.
I'm bored and disgusted.
The thing that truly makes Arkham a rotten hell are the days and nights when people like Dr.Leland are not present to rein in the apathy of the other members of staff.
Guards don't dare play fucked up games like who can beat poor old Mr.Paul into unconsciousness the quickest when that no nonsense woman is here.
Once Dr. Crane had a nurse force feed a 20 year old female an untested pill.
The pill was a nauseating green color that reminded me of what cartoon ghost slime was supposed to look like.
The female had struggled and had drawn blood when she had eventually resorted to biting the nurse from hell.
But the green pill was forced down her throat despite her struggles and it didn't take long for cyanosis to set in.
Her skin turns blue and she already had a pair of misty blue eyes.
Those blue eyes of hers captured my gaze with a wide look of terror that was desperately clawing for any possibility for help.
" Please help me," She seems to silently beg me while she grasps at her throat like it would help her.
My eyes escape her gazes hold as they quickly dim and grow ever distant.
Her sight was probably just black spots and random colored blurs at that point.
Dr. Crane had made eye contact with me rather early into my wondering sight.
He had smirked at me and teasingly placed a finger in front of his thin lips .
For some reason I find myself smiling widely over at him before, making a joke about what a pathetic display that very blue girl made.
The female now was slumped over in a restraint chair just moments away from meeting her maker.
" It is rather pathetic but sacrifices must be made to enable one to create a genius product," Dr.Crane said to me while he studied the girl's corpse with a rather unique apathy.
A unique apathy that would be seen in the expressions of monsters like Dr.Mengele a.k.a the angel of death.
( may the victims of the holocaust somehow find peace)
Let this young blue girl find peace too .
When her death was later reported it was labeled a suicide by hanging.
My brain would cleanse her name from my memory .
The only thing I recall about her appearance now is what has already been written down.
The blue of her terrified eyes and skin is the pinnacle foundation of my regret.
Dr. Crane threatens to drag me into hell if I happen to be the reason he suddenly falls from grace.
Why did I just stand in the doorway of the clinic wing silently waiting for a woman to be murdered?
I have no idea but the thought of this happening again and again does not surprise me.
Arkham Asylum is fucked up like that .
In the afternoon today when I returned to my office after yet another patient evaluation a gift was waiting for me.
A rose and a Joker playing card had been left on my paper covered desk.
The rose was a wilted thing that I suspected had been taken from the Asylum Gardens.
For some reason my gut was begging me to look at the back of the Joker card.
Turns out there was some ink writing on the back of the card.
I read that chicken scratch text with trembling hands.
Dear Harley Quinn,
Have you seen the scarred man doc ? You know the one with the pocket watch because I have . Harl's if you have seen him… don't follow his commands like a sheep. It's better to remember then to forget and move on.
Sincerely, your friend , The Joker :)
Diary , I truly wonder how the universe wants me to deal with this situation.
Maybe... to get drunk … that actually sounds like a lovely idea at this point.
Now what will be my poison of choice ?
Cheap wine or a even cheaper bottle of bourbon.
Anyways cheers my poor neglected diary for whatever I guess.