I just want to inform the public that this is 100% a parody. If you take this seriously and flame me then… I'll be greatly annoyed.
Anyway, I wrote this out of pure boredom, and wasn't going to put it up… but what the hell. If you don't like it… go away.
So here's the basic plot in a nutshell… At my school there are all these people who love emo guys. They have a thing for the tight pants and greased down hair… and I thought of how ridiculous it would be for somebody like that to be a Joker fan girl and create him so he was her "ideal emo guy." Well… it's an attempt.
Note: I am not trying to offend anybody. If you're offended I'm sorry. I do have a pair of tight pants, I won't lie. Except just one, and I never wear them… and I only bought them because they're purple. Yeah… I'm a purple stalker.
I sat in the middle of my four-poster bed with the curtains of my room drawn and the lights off, while Fall Out Boy blasted in my ears. I traced the scars on my wrists with the tip of my black finger nails while fresh tears pooled out at the misfortunes my life has become. How can I survive another day like this? I just want it to end; I want to fall asleep and never, ever wake up. I gripped the handle of my pocketknife, imagining all the horrible things my parents have ever done to me.
A door slammed shut somewhere in the house. I stared for a long while at my bedroom door. Light crept in through the crack underneath it, and I realized my stepfather must be home. My father abandoned my mother when he found out she was pregnant with me. That's partly why I'm so depressed, but not entirely. My stepfather cusses me out all the time, and tells me how terrible of a person I am. Just the thought of him makes me want to die. My mom works three jobs to support us, and my stepfather just sits around and gets drunk. If I was dead there'd be one less mouth to feed, and my mom would be so much happier.
If I care about her I should just end my life now.
But I'm too much of a wimp. I sighed and stood up, slipping my iPod into my My Chemical Romance hoody. I turned on the lights, something I hate doing (I was a Vampire in a past life) and applied so much eyeliner some might think I was a raccoon, except a very angsty raccoon, because I am angsty. I then made sure my tight jeans were nice and tight and opened the window.
My family and I live in Gotham City, and have my whole life. We got a house down in the Narrows, which is a very dangerous part of town, but we have no choice because we're poor. Night had fallen and drunken people walked up and down the street, along with members of the mob, pimps, and prostitutes. I dropped from my window down to the driveway below. I don't mind the pain I receive when I land, because I love pain. It reminds me of my horrible life. Plus, I hate using the front door, because it makes me feel normal, and I hate normal people.
The front door opened as soon as I began walking down the driveway and towards the street. I glanced behind me, through my dyed-black hair (black hair shows everybody that I'm miserable), and saw my step-dad running towards me with an empty beer-bottle, waving his arms up and down and shouting cuss words.
I took off running in the opposite direction, my black skater shoes padding along the asphalt. I can't skateboard, but these shoes are a good representative of how much I am suffering, especially the skull and crossbones I drew with a silver sharpie.
I ran and ran until I was so out of breath I thought I was going to die. I sat against a wall and fought to catch my breath, my scarred arms wrapped around my stomach. Nobody else was around, because I ran into a dark alley, despite all the warnings everybody is given to avoid dark alleys when you are alone in the middle of the night. I liked the thrill because I'm really angsty.
Suddenly the alley I was sitting in was filled with this high-pitched laughter that made me want to cover my ears, except I didn't, because I love to suffer. The laughter grew closer and I stood up nervously, my heart frantic in my chest. It was too dark to see anything, but I recognized that laugh.
Sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed. A white, ghostly face appeared out of the shadows, the face that belonged to the Joker.
The Joker is the most feared criminal in Gotham City. His methods of causing disruption are horrific and when he first rose to power all of Gotham was in frenzy. And then, Batman threw him into Arkham, and since then he's escaped. But nobody has heard from him recently, and most thought he left for good. Except I didn't… because deep down I know he's right, and he won't stop until all of Gotham sees the truth.
I gasped and backed away, but the alley was a dead-end, and I was trapped. The only way out was past him.
He appeared fully out of the shadows, and at once I felt totally turned on. His green hair was greased down in front of his eyes, and his purple pants were even tighter than mine. He wasn't wearing his signature purple jacket, but instead just his green vest and blue patterned shirt. Into the vest, though, were the words My Chemical Romance sewn in big, black letters across his chest.
"Why so serious?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and nasally, except still dark and depressing. He approached me slowly, dragging a little like he was just as miserable as me. We even had matching shoes, except his were plain black, like his soul.
I tried to scream out of sheer terror, except he covered my mouth. He pressed me against the wall, and our tight pants touched at the knee, like all our sorrow was coming together.
"Don't scream, beau-t-iful," he demanded, "or I may have to, uh, hurt you." He pulled out a knife and held it to my face.
"You can't hurt me," I said, my voice full of pain. "Because I'm already dead."
He licked his lips and peered at me through his straightened hair. "I find you very, uh, in-ter-est-ing," he said, drawing out every syllable. "Even though you are like, uh, every other angsty, emo teenager."
His words offended me, and tears pooled out of my eyes.
"Nobody has it as hard as I do," I admitted sadly, but still angrily because he doubted my true feelings.
"What is your, uh, name?"
"My name is Amy, but everybody calls me Broken Smiles, because I never smile," I informed him.
He grabbed my wrist and began pulling me backwards, completely spontaneously. I resisted at first, but then gave in. What's the point of fighting? He'll just beat me anyway. Everybody always does. So together we walked out of the alley. I examined him up and down, astonished at his decent taste in clothes. Although if you're as miserable as I am, you'll dress this way too.
A van that I didn't notice before was stationed right at the mouth of the alley. It was white and the door opened as soon as we approached. Men in clown masks poured out and ran over to us. I felt many hands grasp me and pull me inside. I screamed and kicked, but there were too many of them, and I'm very weak. They shoved me inside and closed the door. I continued to fight, knowing it was pointless. Then somebody shoved a needle in my arm, and soon I was facing my own emo dreams.