"The Joker" interview; Doctor Harleen Quinzel presiding. November 2nd.

Within a small padded room, there are two people. One is a man with a terrible looking smile, lying down on a therapeutic bed. The other is a doctor, a woman.

“Good morning. First, I want to say, no funny business. You often talk about a lot of nonsense whenever we have these sessions, so I want you to start by telling me what's on your mind, right now.”

The man looks up to the doctor.





“What's on my mind...” He thinks for a few seconds, then smiles deeply.





“Let me tell you a story, Doc. This is one of my favourites. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, just as much as I do. Its a cold night in Gotham. Usually I ponder the streets, looking for something fun to do, looking for entertainment. So as I am coming from nothing of particular importance, I spot a young woman walking, carrying a few bags. She doesn't seem older than 20. Nights in Gotham aren't as dangerous anymore. Not with the Bat around, oh no. So she's walking along, eager to get to where she is going, so I decide to tag along. Just for fun. We're walking, she has no idea I'm behind her. Why would she need to? She obviously knows the streets are safer now. Eventually, she gets to her front door. Her house is nothing amazing. Just another small house on the backstreet of nowhere. As she opens the door, I pounce. She's on the ground, screaming, borderline crying through complete terror. I'm on top, slapping her around, laughing as I do so. I'm having the time of my life. A slap here, a murderous laugh and wicked smile there. Then she has to go and ruin the fun. “Help! Somebody help me!” she cries. I don't like this. Not one bit. So I decide to slap her around a bit harder. Coax her into keeping quiet. It doesn't work. She pulls a sneaky sucker punch on me and knocks me off her. I find this hysterical. I love a challenge. But like whenever anything gets too much fun, she goes and ruins it. She's heading for the phone. The fun has gone now. I'm bored. So I stand up, pull out my revolver and I shoot. It hits her in the back. A bang and a whimper, she hits the ground. Then silence. My work here is done. Then I hear something, quietly, in the distance. “Mommy? Mommy?” I decide to investigate. In the corner of her house is a small room. Upon the door are stickers of rainbows, cartoon characters and a name, which I can never for the life of me remember. I open the door, to see the light on. The room is filled with toys, teddy bears and other childish things.

In the corner of the room, is a cradle. Within it, a young child, no older than a few years. Tears are clearly forming in his eyes. It wasn't from fear of a stranger. It was the classic human base fear. Not knowing where your mother is. Why she isn't responding to your calls. I walk over to the crib and kneal down. The toddler looks at me, clearly upset, I look back with a blank expression. This kind of fear, witnessing it in a child makes me think. For the first time in a very long time, my mind becomes clear. I feel human all over again. The past comes to mind, remembering tragedy.. remembering what I lost all those years ago. Then I look further. Seeing a few tears rolls down his cheeks. “Mommy?” he shouts once more. He has no realisation that his mother is not coming for him. She didn't look like the type to have friends, or anyone that would come looking for her. This child, just like myself, was left for the world to chew and spit. Before I know it, I'm back. I realise the funny side of things. As I do a grin appears on my face. I stand up, take one last look at the whimpering child and walk towards the door. As I reach it, he shouts, a final time. “Mommy!”.



I laugh, as I flick off the light off and close the door behind me.”