Disc: I don't own Batman or anything related.
Welcome, to the last chapter, the last big moment…. The day we discover how the story ends. Too dramatic? Oh well, either way, I don't lie when I say the last chapter (PS: Sorry it's taken soooo long.), but mark my words…There might be, if I were to be extremely optimistic, hope for a sequel…. though I don't have any assurances yet.
Either way, enjoy it…it's the last one.
If hell hath no furry like a woman scorned, then before Trish made her way into the world of death, they were going to have to step it up. She ploughed through the crowds with the speed and force of a rampant moose, pushing anyone in her way to the side with the ease of someone twice her size. She would not let him win, this was her game, and she was supreme champion, with no exceptions. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest, one shot was all she had, to save her slowly crumbling world; one shot, that was all.
The building on her right was the first indication that she had been expected, for suspended above the roof was a giant wedding balloon. "Hey Wedding Girl" was written in giant black letters on the side, and in all their confusion, no one else had noticed it. Sighing in an exasperated way, she walked over towards the building, imagining what ghoulish horrors lay behind the door, and readying herself.
No one greeted her when she walked in, but someone had taken the liberty of putting up a little art exhibit just for her eyes. There were pictures, many, many pictures and she resisted the urge to look away: these were pictures of all her failures. There was her wedding, her first speech, and just recently: her collapsing to the side of the road under her memories. It was a never-ending reminder of everything she'd tried to do, but never could do, due perhaps to some cruel twist of fate. "See wedding girl?" An irritating voice came over the loud speaker. "You're just like me: you try and you try, yet life just continues throwing pies at you…at least I learned to laugh it off. And that's the only difference!" Trish scowled, "There are many, many differences!" She spat on the floor, "I'm not so ugly a being that I'll believe that!"
"Oh but you were ugly Trish!" The voice laughed at her anger, "You've just gotten a bit rusty is all!" Without standing around to listen to his jeering, Trish rusted for a set of stairs in front of her, never before had her feet felt so heavy, but she couldn't stop to rest: the edge was in view: she couldn't tumble over before her time.
"Stop this!" She burst through door after door, only to hear more loudspeaker giggles and irritating comments. "You know wedding girl, there's a formula to breaking people…a certain method that is proven… this is step five!" Ignoring this, Trish slammed into a locked door, sending a shock of pain through her shoulder. This is it, she thought, this is the door! She smashed into it again, feeling the rusty old hinges creak under the strain: the door still didn't open.
Later, after she'd warn herself out stupidly hammering on the door, her sanity and body drained, the Joker finally stepped into view: a harsh grin painting his face. "Oh, little wedding girl…you disappoint me!" He sat down next to her, but she was to exhausted to stop him. "You'll pay!" she stammered, "I'm not giving up!" He shook his head in mock sadness, "You see, that's the problem! You're too nice now, to righteous…you're just not the same anymore, you're just not suited to…"
"Ugliness!" Trish answered, perturbed. "Why do you keep bringing that up?" More ridiculous laughter assaulted her ears, "Because that's you're doing, Wedding girl…that's what you taught me," He smiled at her, an impish, fairy smile, a smile that turned sadistic. "How to be ugly!" Trish stifled a cry as a burning sensation crawled over her arm: fire! She almost couldn't believe it, but the rest came back then…the reasons, the rhymes… She forced her way to her feet and staggered back "You!" She remembered where those scar were from now: the boy from her dreams the love turned to hate, it was all her fault. She passed out, the black reek of poison gas taking her breath. It was a harsh reality, one Trish had slowly smothered, but like a caged animal, it had lurked about: waiting for its time of freedom.
"Usually that's all it takes form this point on…one sentence." The ropes holding Trish to the chair hurt her burnt arm, but she ignored it: her conscience was wreaking havoc, leaving a guilty smear in her thoughts. The city could have been burning, for all she cared at this point: she just wanted to die silently, dignified, away from it all. "But there's a problem dear wedding- Trish" She would have started at the mention of her real name, but now she only blinked and looked up. "You're someone who deserves a little better than those other poor slobs." He pointed, enjoying his own perverse humour, to some henchmen carrying a body away. "You deserve a bit better…my love" He cackled a bit more. "You don't love me, I don't love you," Trish answered bitterly, "I hardly see how that works." The Joker only gave the though a second's frown. "Cheer up, at least you don't have to die somewhere between you're job…which you hate, and your family, which you also hate. You get to die listening to me!" He smiled, a toothy grin full of rotten yellow teeth. "Aren't I good enough?"
"Of course" Trish sighed sarcastically, "You have my attention, now please can you just tell me how I'm going to die!" She leaned back in the dirty, disgusting old chair, giving him an impatient look, expecting anything. His lips pulled back in a brutish, savage sneer, "Alone," He said quietly, voice almost a purr; he was getting a lot of pleasure out of this, Trish could tell. "Alone, above everyone else, above all those silly little people, who think they're worth something in life. You and me both know that, we're two of a kind, ugly to the end." He paused, considering the last sentence, the breaking sentence. "So you're going to die the way I someday will die; alone, a god among men, above everyone else. You, little wedding girl, will die queen of your own ugly kingdom."
Trish looked away, understanding his words in a way that was far above their basic meaning. Her soul understood those words, for they were the words every new born child has plastered as deep in their subconscious as is possible, the set of words that will only ever mean one thing: The end: You lose!
She exhaled slowly, not moved to cry; instead, she started laughing. "Hey!" The joker exclaimed, "What's so funny?" He looked about to laugh himself as he leaned in: curious. "You'd give the most excellent eulogies." Trish stated, sure she'd lost her mind. "So god-dammed if you kill me…do me a favour, ruin the funeral!" She stopped laughing and a gritty sneer found it's way to her face. "I never did thank you for ruining my wedding, and now that I'm here, I finally have the chance."
What was it that came over her, that idea that now; in her last hours she had the right to be truthful? God, she thought angrily: is this who I really am? Some malicious subject of her majesty: madness? Why was it that then in her final moment she felt happy to say everything, to allow her sarcastic comments through?
It took longer to tie her to the building's flag than she'd imagined, and she'd long since lost the need to care on which building she was being slaughtered. The life she'd wanted seemed so close, and she didn't have time to fret away the moments she had to live it. "Are you going to kill me sometime today?" She asked, smiling a long forgotten quirky smile. She got a vicious grin in return. It was a long played game, but too long played and she knew it, the fun had to end before it ran out, like the blood was running down Trish's face: the cold sting of steel searing the skin. "Any last words?" The intoxicating oily smell of face paint, that reminded her only of carnivals, and Halloween flooded her nose, making it hard to breathe. "Yes," she gurgled, trying not to scream, it was a bitter moment, but exhilarating, exciting to a point, which saddened her: her happiness was not sane. "When I'm gone, don't let Dave have my goldfish!" She was barley aware of sick, cruel amusement through her pain. "You're a hard one to kill."
The footage of Trish's death didn't meet the public eye, but Bruce Wayne saw it, he never would have guessed what he was really looking at. Tied to a government building's roof, she was dead, ragged and to the bafflement of the police, where there should have been a smile carved into her face there was a frown. It was however only to one persons great hilarity, and only one other's great love of irony, that where there should have been a frown, on Trish's lightly painted, silent lips, there was a smile. A sarcastic, cruel smile of vicious and intense comedy, one that seemed to ask, "Do oyu think I'm ashamed of being…ugly?"
The End.