As Hollow as the "O" in "God"

Paul Hennessy was found staring out the window of a speeding police cruiser, being taken away to where he will satay for the rest of his life. The clouds were dark, gray and barely moving, resembling his future.

"Why so serious?" one of the police men taunted him mercilessly. Years of manic joy finally collapsed on Paul. He just didn't want to fake it anymore. He began to take Amobarbital, known as "Downers" where he bought them from in order to feel real emotion. It helped him see things a bit more clearly but his newly found perception of life didn't keep him out of prison. In fact, it made him more easily captured by Gotham's best.

Roughly, he was heaved out of the car by three strong men in uniform and dragged up the stairs into the police center. He was rushed into an interrogation room and cuffed down. He didn't think it was necessary but he did realize how terrifying of a man he's become to all of Gotham. He realized that the entire city would have expected him to be handled so roughly.

Soon enough, a man entered the room. Paul looked up at his proud face. "So, Joker, we've finally got you. What is your real name?" the man asked, bitterly.

Paul hesitated, fiddling with his chains. "I'm not entirely sure. I've claimed many names. Pick one." he replied. Apparently, the man didn't take it too pleasantly. He grabbed Paul by the hair and slammed his face down on the metal of the table. "We're done playing games, Joker. You've had your way for too long. We're not as willing to play anymore. I am going to ask you again. What is your name?" he asked again.

Paul struggled to remember. Jack Napier? Jact Gahm? He sighed. "I think it is Paul." he said. "I can't remember the last name." He was defeated. He had no clue why he wanted to rid himself of his blissful ignorance. Now, the world seemed so bleak. He couldn't get himself out of situations he got himself into, he couldn't think clearly and it was hard for him to breathe. Now, he'd much rather be the Joker again, rather than Paul. The Joker was a known name. Nobody, no even himself knew who Paul was.

The man sighed and his face contorted oddly into a confused expression. "What do you mean you don't remember?" he asked him, visibly frustrated by the Joker's lack of cooperation.

"I don't always remember it so clearly- My past, I mean." the Joker replied. "Sometimes, it is as if I just lived everything yesterday and I know exactly what happened. Sometimes, I remember different images. Sometimes, I draw a blank." he said and looked down at his chains. He tugged on them slightly. Paul mentally laughed. It was almost as if he were in the asylum again. There was no screamed, no manic laughter, no more injections- but he was trapped again. He wondered to himself if he would always be trapped by something. Men in white suits. Himself. Pills. Police.

"Paul, have you been in any mental hospitals?" the man asked. "Bingo." Paul responded. The man nodded. "How many people have you killed, Paul?" he asked.

Reluctantly, Paul looked back. Jason Todd. Sarah Gordon. Alexander Luthor. "A lot." he replied. "Maybe over three dozen."

The man shook his head. "Do you remember killing them all? Or is it blurry like your past?" he asked. Paul assumed that he was partially a psychologist based on the questions he asked him. "I always remember the killing. I can never forget the killing no matter how hard I try to- I rarely try to, mind you, but those memories never go away. I've found that it takes a sicker man to forget his kills than a man who remembers his kills as a warm memory." he replied. He fiddled with his chains again.

"So, are you the man who remembers his kills as a warm memory?" the man asked him. Paul grinned a wide grin. "Normal people remember their mothers baking them warm apple pie. I don't have those memories to fall back on. I settle for the closest thing." he said.

The man noticed that Paul was slowly becoming more manic. His pills were wearing off and he was lapsing further into his own warped reality. "What kind of memories did you have as a child, Paul?" he asked him. The grin on the Joker's face fell and he glared up at him with dark eyes.

"What kind of memories did you have, officer?" he countered in a hiss. "We aren't talking about me. What was your childhood like?" the man pressed.

Unwilling to argue any more, Paul sighed. "My mother never made pie." he began. "She was too busy defending herself from my father." He slipped his left hand over the chains on the right hand discretely.

The man gestured for him to continue. "He was a drunk. He always went after my mother and made me watch. "Why so serious, boy?" he'd ask me. He never acknowledged me unless he was asking me that or forcing me to stay in the room to hear her scream. Except-" he began and stopped. When it didn't look like he was going to say any more, the man urged him on. "Tell me what happened." he said.

Hesitantly, he began again. "It was my birthday-" he said. "-and my mother begged my father to help her throw me a party. I don't know why she did it. She knew it would be her neck- Or, at least, it should have been. I was shocked when my father agreed to participate. Later on that day, he came back home more plastered that usual. He was dressed as a clown. In nicer terms, he killed my mother and slashed a permanent smile onto my face." He gestured to his scarred lips and cheeks. "Happy birthday." he said, morbidly.

"I was forced on the streets alone. I pick-pocketed, mugged- small crimes. Then, I got involved with bigger people and heavier crime. I got myself to the top. Here I am." he said and chuckled a high-pitched chuckle. The man nodded. So, he was truly insane. The man couldn't help but feel remorse- He was sure he'd be insane if he was forced into that kind of situation, too.

Suddenly, Paul's hands burst from the chains and he jumped onto the table. "Nice talking with you. Maybe we can do it again sometime!" he cried and sliced through the man's throat with his nail. "Oh, never mind!" he cried and began to laugh and he ran out of the room. Dodging bullets, he escaped the police station.

Finally, he was free again. The Joker was free of moral, of chains and of the law.