The Joker Of The Pack

Dearest,

He wears a smile, drawing his victims in like flies to a Venus flytrap. And like the flies, unwittingly snapped up, he snaps the life from those he draws near. Beware the joker of the pack – he is not what he seems.

He exists in certain people – people you would never think could hold that amount of pure, unadulterated evil. But there are those who are strong. They repel the joker and his attractive powers. They see his supposed friendly smile for what it truly is – a sickening, insane, greed filled grin, dripping with evil.

Few and far between are those who know the joker. They use their knowledge to rescue the innocents, too frightened and weak to resist. They and the joker exist together – the balance.

But the joker can be bought. Make him an ally, and you'll make him a tool. A tool that, in the wrong hands, could wreak devastation on our world.

I know the joker. I know him well. Simple, really.

I am his.

Fortunately, I am strong enough to keep him locked away, unable to spread his seed of havoc. In return, he gnaws on my soul, twisting me, serving up my bouts of depression and mania. He is a cruel master. I hide it well, given the circumstances I'm dealt. Wrap myself in jokes and laughter, for the joker cannot stand any kind of happiness – only the perverse happiness he obtains from corrupting those weaker than him.

But in the far stretches of the night, while all others sleep, I break down. The joker brings me to tears as he whispers to me. Whispers of killing the ones I hold dear, making them his servants. Just like me. And every time I cry, let go, he tightens his grip on my life.

It's funny, really. I spend my days and nights saving people from death, when all the while, Death thrives in me. Ironic, isn't it.

I know the joker. And he knows me. And one day, he will finally break me, and then, I will be useless. And he will leave me, the broken, shattered shell that holds nothing. My body will be intact, my mind eaten away. And he will leave, go onto his next victim, and start the same process.

This end is near. I feel it. The joker is restless. He hates that I try my best to stop the thing he revels in – death. He is growing discontented, and soon, he'll leave. Do not cry for me, lest he come to you. I leave you with a request.

Don't let him get you.

All my love,

Hawkeye.

I'll leave you to think of who he's writing too. There's no right answer, it's whoever you think it is. Please review!