White.
White white white white white.

He was about to die from boredom. Nothing to do. Nothing to look at. All you could do is sit there in your soft room, wearing a straitjacket. Not only is it boring, the straitjacket hurts like hell.
"I would stay here for a little while and get out of Batman's hair if there was just something to freaking DO." he muttered, trying to get his bangs out of his eyes. "White? Seriously? No WONDER why these people are insane! Just whiteness to look at! Nothing different! That's all! White!"

The Joker HATED asylums. If you were to ask him, he'd mutter, "It's worst than college, and that's saying something.
"First, that annoying Batman with his stupid, adolescent nephew jam me in here and wreck my fun. Then, interrogation..."

The Joker paused, smiling about his latest interrogation.
Mrs. Whims would come in and sit right next to him, saying, "Please, why do you blow up buildings?"
"It's fun."
"Why do you like to hurt people?"
"It's fun."
"Why do you snatch children from their beds, forcing them to work for you?"
"It's fun."
The black-haired woman would just sharply turn to this freak, with extremely messy jade hair, scars that formed in the shape of a smile and a bleached skin.
"Sir, why do you think that murder is a game?"
"It IS a game."
"No it's NOT!"
"What about CLUE? World of Warcraft? Call of Duty?"
If The Joker loved anything, it was the look on their faces when The Joker made a connection in an ironic way. Mind games, oh how he loved them.

The Joker grunted, shifting to the corner of his soft room.
"Then those damn needles full of poison. When they find out I'm not dead, they strap my arms into this damn straitjacket."

He slammed the back of his head against the wall. "Eight Amendment...must not apply to crazies."
The Joker moaned, KNOWING that his back was being ripped apart. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. "I don't know why I kill...I just...do it." he answered to Mrs. Whims.

***

Batman practically shoved Anthony into his Bat Mobile, furious. "Anthony Robert Robin, do you realize what kind of damage you've done to Emma Block?" Anthony pressed his zit-covered forehead against the window, trying to get the taste of grimy, soapy water out of his mouth.
"So tell me."
"Emma has to get her left eye removed! REMOVED! That's how much you've screwed it up, just like everything else!"
Anthony turned sharply left, nearly knocking off his glasses.
"May I remind you that I stopped that crazy clown-"
Batman glared at his nephew. "That doesn't count. You tripped on your shoelaces and fell over him. That was an accident."
The 16-year-old rolled his eyes and pressed his coal-black hair against his uncle's tinted window.
"Just wait on what your dad says about this, Robin!"
"My name's Anthony."
Batman just muttered, "Robin, this is the third school you had to take this year. You've been expelled from your other schools for violence. Why do you do these things?"
Anthony didn't answer. He just pressed his head against the window, watching at the lights of Gotham drew into a beautiful, flowing blur.
Batman sighed in disgust. Neither of them spoke to each other during the whole car ride.
"I don't know why I hurt people...I just...do it."