My Version of Hell Was Much Funnier

The chair I sat in was cold, although I’d been sitting here for hours. There was an all day special about psychology, or some crap like that. The main subject of conversation – shock – The Joker and myself, Sin.

The Duo of Destruction. Jack Napier and Simplicity Scavetto.

What a crock of shit.

It was like a Maury talk show or something, doctors seated on stage with a crowd rippling eager pleas of understanding.

Tell me, doctor, just what is going through these impossibly deranged, mentally irresponsible and emotionally stagnate people?

I’ll tell you, Janet, it’s nothing you could understand, ha, ha, ha, I’m a doctor, I have a Ph D in three long words I can’t say without stuttering, a ha, ha.

Why doctor, you’re so ingenious.

I know Janet, hand me a pipe full of tobacco I can play with, ha, ha, ha.

Right away, doctor.

These people irritate me to no end. My ears constantly ring with... with madness. You want to know what it sounds like? Bubbly laughs escaping the thickly painted black lips of Harley Quinn as she tries to flirt with my fiery haired friend Sam. He laughs once tersely, a nervous smirk twisted up the corner of his lips and looked to me, his eyes screaming ‘help!’

Ignoring him, I turned my attention back to the television. I stand, picking up my chair and move it closer to the television. My breath fogs the screen. I had a reason, a voice; an irresistibly smooth voice, softer than satin on a cold day; a deep and throaty chuckle; dark and piercing green eyes; short gray hair cut crisply; date-rape face.

It was my old therapist doctor Kats. Apparently he has the low down on the psychotically induced female, palling around with the notorious Joker, stalking the velvet darkness of night in Gotham City, striking fear in the hearts of many with our incessant dooms day plans.

Reality check; he has a new partner.

Jane Robinson was, apparently, a troubled girl, relieved of charges of double homicide against her parents at the tender age of 14 and living alone in a house full of orphans on the streets of Downtown Gotham. One day her and The Joker meet, and it’s instant infatuation; the two make plans of destruction immediately.

Because that is exactly what happened, Samuel Kats, bravo to you.

She laughed again. God, is she annoying. I don’t know how long it has been since she’s gotten here; two week, three months, five days? The time around her is spread thinly, seconds becoming hours, hours becoming days.

My eye twitches. She laughs. There’s a chalky texture in my mouth, ground powder of calcium teeth. She’s driving me mad. She flicks her wrist, swiping away one of her little cap things, making the bell jingle.

I blink, open my eyes and am at the table, which was seven feet away. The wood under my grip feels as if it’s splintering. I look her in the center of her bright blue eyes.

“Will you shut the fuck up you stupid black and red clad whore?!?!”

She shuts up. I relax. Her lips pout, her makeup runs, she cries. Standing I’m pushed away as she runs to my old bedroom – their room now, screaming lies consisting of

‘Jokie, that, and Jokie this, and Mister Jay she’s mean, boo hoo!’

Squid snickers, covering his mouth with is hand. My lips twitch to a smile. The door crashes open. My fingers pick at Squid’s shoulder, pulling him up.

“Just where-” I stop, “do you two think you are going?”

I turn to face him, his white face, his red lips, his green vest, his dark slacks, his purple coat, his red and black tumor clinging to his arm. Her black lips thin out to a smile. Joker looks down to her and they gather to thick pouts.

My palms bleed. My nails dig into their flesh. I grab Squids arm.

“Out.”

We leave.