Who Says That ***'s Not an Art?

The Joker swaggered up the outside fire escape that was incrusted with rust turning the black iron into a burnt orange. The fire exit sign was barely hanging to the metal door which itself had only one, severely damaged hinge after being kicked in so many times.

“Ooh, wha’ you brough’ us back boss? You go’ us a little doll to play wi’h?” One of the Joker’s men grunted under his mask while the girl, who seemed to be unconscious, was laid onto the battered wooden table that was the home of knife carvings.

“Don’t touch her, now, get me rope…now,” Scolded the Joker, chewing part of his bottom lip as he glazed at her features, placing his gloved index finger under her chin to turn her face left to right.

Her eyes fluttered open to find herself trapped. Her body was seated on a wooden chair but her wrists had been entwined together with rope, pulled behind her body; her ankles followed the pattern with being tied to chair legs with rope. Her breathing was jagged as the slightly frayed rope was entangled repeated across her chest and stomach. She kept her head low but decided to concentrate on the almost rhythmic beats of the drops of rain that filtered through the ceilings gaps, leaving a draft which wrapped around her body almost as tightly as the actual rope. The walls had begun to crumble with the wallpaper peeling under the damp; the floor was just dirt and concrete. She felt no emotions almost blocking everything apart from footsteps.

“Ah, you’re awake I see toots. Come on now, I invited you into my humble home, you could at least look at me…I said, look at me,” Snarled the Joker into her ear, stroking her neck almost affectionately with a blade.

He grabbed her neck fiercely with his hand before pulling her jaw to look at him, half covering her mouth and his decorated eyes flickering over hers, in this light he saw them, the scars. He licked his lips before laughing insanely.

“Can you do me a favour before you kill me?” She nagged with a slight giggle, causing the Joker to be taken back. She’s truly insane if she laughs in the face of her own death.

“What is it?” Sneered the Joker; still keeping their faces so close that his breath rattled over her pale skin. He pushed the knife into her, drawing blood so she would be in complete agony but all she did was let out a faint moan and close her eyes, as is enjoying the pain with an unhidden smirk.

“When you kill me, look into my eyes. That’s my favourite thing about killing; watching the little spark, their little…life leave them. You can see almost everything about them in that fraction of a second,” She whispered to the Joker, as their faces touched lightly. Her hand held his as if guiding him with her knife.

“You can’t threaten people with death when they don’t see it as a threat,” She taunted into his ear, ignoring the blade that was deeply rested under her jaw bone.