"Don't go, Mr. J." she whines and grabs my arm. When she pouts, like a child, I push her away. Really, I want to hold her close and never let her go. But I can't. If I stopped playing games with her that wouldn't be fun, would it?
No, of course not!
With no games, the winner is set, and the winner is rarely me.
"Mr. J." Sometimes, her voice annoys me. At times I miss Harleen, who was lost but not knowing that I knew where she was all along.
Hmm, my thoughts are odd, today. So straightforward, so boring.
I caught one of my stooges pretending to laugh at my jokes. How rude of him. I taught him a lesson in manners. His laugh was real and terror-stricken right up to the point when I pulled the trigger and the bullet from my gun went through his eye, and then his head. After that, I laughed.
How funny death can be. All that life seeping out.
The bullet twisted and tore through his mind. It filled with blood and brain matter. Front matter, back matter, eye… matter. It ripped through the valleys and hills of his soft gray limited intellect. Ha!
The bullet was from one of my special toys. It advanced slowly through his skull, and I watched every turn of the shell as it slurped a hole through his thoughts.
So very funny.
Sigh.
Did I just think sigh? What a fantastic thought.
When she was missing, my Harley Q, I didn't know what to make of myself. So I tried a filament. I lay each knife, gun, baby clothing in the shape of a lightbulb, and made myself the filament. She would have known it was a lightbulb meant to bring her back to me. None of my other sycophants understood. But without her, I wouldn't spark. The light stayed off. Off, off, off.
I admit, I worried when she was away. Only she lives and dies for me.
Control.
When the world stops playing games, all that's left is control.
I rule everything I touch, with the jokes I play.
Did she slip me one of those Harlequin pills? Yes, that must be the reason my thoughts have gone dull. I'll have a chat with her.
It'll be so fun.
Until next time,
The Joker?
