Help, I'm Alive

//Joker’s POV//

“Any sight of Batman?” I asked one of my men, tediously.

“Boss; no disrespect, but you only asked me that five minutes ago. In that short space of time, we have not been able to find anything. I can assure you, the rest of the guys are doing their best to find your play toy.”

I let out a throaty growl, getting impatient with doing nothing but wait around for something to do. “Well, where is he?!” I exclaimed as I arose from my slumped position in my armchair. I began traipsing backwards and forth to release some of my pent up stress. “It’s been a week with no word from Batman and his escapades in the papers! All you read are these piss-poor excuses of articles; Bruce Wayne allegedly injures self in freak hunting accident. Who cares, hmm? No mention of me, whatsoever. I mean, how do Gotham’s citizens sleep at night knowing that there’s a ruthless killer still alive? They all seem so contempt. I’ll show ‘em – you’ll see. As soon as ---”

I cut my sentence short when I stopped in my tracks to notice I was talking to myself as my henchman had snuck off when my back was turned. With a sigh I slumped back into my position on the armchair. My men were sick of me. Ever since that eventful night, I had been doing nothing but mope around aimlessly. I had been searching for the bat, but it was to no avail. I was beginning to think I had actually killed him. Though, it was a sceptic thought. There would have been a lot of hype in the newspapers and on the TV over the fact that the masked vigilante had died. But I had not heard a thing.

I was really letting myself go and it was agitating me to no end. Physically and mentally I was a mess...compared to the norm, that is. I was absolutely bored out of my mind without the satisfactory entertainment out of Harley and Batman. I was a dog chasing cars, but with nothing to chase.

Harley was gone for only a week – that’s what I found most worrying. A week had passed and already the negative side effects had taken their toll. Miserable with nothing to do. And what is worse, I had seen myself getting soft with my men. They may have mistaken my misery for vulnerability. In my scarce moments of gloom they have taken for granted what could be considered an emotional time for me. Kicked me while I’m down. Poured salt in my wounds. Taken advantage of me.

I wasn’t sure if this was just a phase that would blow over with time, but I had to do something immediately to help me find my feet again. What that something was, I hadn’t the faintest. Wallowing in my own self-pity wasn’t doing me any good. The empty beer bottles scattered around reminded me of the oh-so caring father I had; the one who I had no intentions of resembling in looks, nor personality. Eyeing the empty beer bottle, noting how the emptiness resembled what I felt inside, something on the newspaper below it caught my eye.

Shoving the bottle aside, I examined the paper more closely. The focal attention was on a very familiar, beautiful red-head. It was the lovely Pamela Isley hogging all of the attention on the front page. It stated that she was threatening to crash a grand opening ceremony of a new apartment complex. She claimed that because her beloved plants could not speak for themselves, she’d have to do it for them. Blame not her actions, for she is only doing what the foliage wants her to do after their land was invaded by new buildings, destroyed by man. She was simply a common activist going to extremes, in my eyes. Nothing special, but she was getting the attention. Call me a male chauvinist but I can’t help but feel that people are more attracted to her breasts – people are that shallow. She did look like a lot of fun, though. I admired her self-opinionated ways, confidence to stand up for herself and her intelligence, but that could also be the reason why we did not get along. We may have similar personality traits, but we had totally different interests.

Pondering over this woman gave me a very sceptical idea. What I needed was something new to play with – and this house needed a woman around. Isley was a challenge but that’s what I wanted. Poison Ivy is what I needed.