I'm so tired...XP my voice sucks because I'm sick.
And I'm sorry that I've been putting in and taking out chappies. I'm a perfectionist, and I want my next chapter to be awesome like the 1st two!
Chapter 4: No Tomorrows
Accompanying Track: Mad World by Michael Andrews
Suggested by: MahoneSona
She walked down the alley tiredly. It had been a long day, and the daily slog of a five o'clock job was getting to her. Slowly, slowly, she dragged her feet across the pavement and sighed. It was cold out, and the dirty city sky might have threatened rain. She envied those people that were rushing by, tucking their coats close or ducking into the landings of apartment buildings. They had homes.
She glared at the sky and cursed the fates. She had no home, or no realhome, for she didn't consider that dirty rat-hole apartment of hers a home.
It was just a living space, a pathetic grouping of rooms that would be traded in for something actually inhabitable, as soon as she got a raise. Money, money, money, the thing that made the world go round. Something that she always seemed to be lacking.
She was so deep in thought that she nearly ran into a lank stranger that was walking by with a case tucked under his arm.
"Sorry," she mumbled, standing and trying to dodge him. He grabbed her arm suddenly, and she was surprised to notice that despite his physique resembling that of a pencil, his grip was harsh and vise like.
"L-let go..."
She looked up, and despite the fact that greenish-brown hair hung in his face so that more than half was thrown into shadow, she clearly saw the clown face staring down at her, a slow, demonic smile spreading across its mouth. He licked his lips once, and spoke.
"You just keep turning up like a bad penny, don't you angelface?"
Rachel Dawes ground her teeth.
"Look who's talking." she retorted, some girlish, smug part of her thinking that this childish comeback would faze the Joker. It didn't. He laughed softly, menacingly, and changed his grip so that he could hold her close. She turned her face away, looking defiantly at the floor.
He extended a surprisingly gentle hand and caressed her cheek, drawing her closer...closer...
"You know what your problem is, sweetheart?" he asked, breathing lightly on her neck and artfully pulling a switchblade from his pocket. Rachel saw it, and despite her efforts to remain composed, her eyes grew wide with fear.
"Your problem," he hissed, flicking the blade out. "Is that you don't smile. You've got such a pretty face, and you don't use it to smile."
"Now I can help you with that." he grinned, holding the knife to the dying streetlamp. It glinted in a sickly fashion, and made Rachel gasp a little.
"Let's put a smile on that face!"