Young Writers Society

Joker

Driving to the docks was boring, sat in the back of a car as Scarecrow navigated the streets of Gotham towards its expansive docks. I fidgeted, squirming in my seat. Harley simply stared out the window, while in the front, the Mad Hatter struggled to see over the dashboard. Not that there was anything to look at, just boring people living boring lives, unaware of all the fun I would soon be having.
That's the thing with C4. It's like fairydust. Magic, fun, and above all, useful. And soon I would have enough to really entertain myself.
The car rounded the last corner into the docks. Another bored face greeted us, that of a customs officer living out his boring existence by being a problem to others.
"Please show some identification," his voice was monotonous, neither rising nor falling. Clearly what this man needed was some fun in his life. Or maybe a woman, but the first seemed easier at the time.
"Hi there," I said, keeping my face in shadow. I looked at his nametag, "Now Chuck, I need you to listen very carefully for a second. There is something in one of those warehouses which is of great importance to me, and if you could just skip back to your little cubicle there and open the barrier, I'd be very grateful. So why don't you just-"
"I said, I need to see some ID. No ID, no entry,"
I leaned opened the door and stepped into the sunlight, revealing myself. "Please?"
"Oh my God, you monster! Freak!" The guy started shouting, as if I had done something wrong. That wouldn't do, not one bit.
"What?" I asked him. "Is it the scars? Wanna know how I got 'em?" I grabbed his face and, with a flick of my wrist, slipped my penknife from my sleeve to my hand and held it to his throat.
"Well, do ya?"
He shook his head.
"Too bad. 'Cause I like stories. And this one, this is one of my favourites. You see, there once was a little boy, who lives with mommy and daddy, all happy smiles. But one day, daddy sits down on the bed and he tells junior to stay in his room for a while. Well, I tell ya, this is one curious kid, and daddy's acting a little strange. So he creeps downstairs to see what daddy is up to," I laughed, unable to control myself, "Daddy is up to his ankles in mommy's blood, a knife in his hand and a grin on his face. And as soon as he sees me, he has me just like this," I shook the petrified man by the face, grinning at his discomfort, "And he takes the knife, and slides it inside my mouth, like this," I demonstrated, eager for Chuck to feel for himself the biting edge of steel, "And then he laughs, and says to me 'Sonny boy, mommy won't be reading you any more stories...'. And I'm standing there, knife in my mouth crying for mommy like you will be," Another bark of laughter escaped me, "And he said to me 'Hey, Sonny boy. Why. So. Serious?'. And then d'ya know what he did to me? This is my favourite part of the story. Ya know what he did? He gave me my smile. Like this..."