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Literature Text
The door slammed open.
Shuffling feet brought along the thick stench of whiskey shots and urine like a noxious cloud. It clung to the peeling wallpaper and darkened the floor. Slippered feet slid across the cheap linoleum and white hands clenched the counter. Mother gasped as the light flickered.
“Where’s... th’ ...booze?” his voice cut through the air with slurred words. Mother shook her head. Her white hands were shaking and holding on for dear life.
“I said...where is it?!” he was shouting now. Shouting and reaching for an empty bottle on the table. He threw it at the cupboards, smashing it into sparkling crystal.
“WHERE-IS-IT?!” Louder now, and shaking too. Shaking with intensity only fury could unleash.
“G-gone.” Barely audible under the smashing of more glass and footsteps getting closer. One more step and her white hands shot across the counter. A knife gleamed in the flickering light.
“D’ you think you’re gonna CUT ME?” Angry laughter filled the room. “Bitch, you wouldn’ DARE.”
Struggle. Breathless struggle as she fought. Sweat gleamed on her forehead as she became the animal he forced her to be. He yelled in pain as red flashed across his stained shirt. No triumph was reflected in her eyes.
And then he broke her. Beating and punching her again and again, watching the knife fall from her hand, but not once reaching for it. Tears and blood mingled into streams down her cheeks, staining a face that hadn’t been perfect for eighteen years.
The knife gleamed in the flickering light.
Laughter pounded though the kitchen as he struck her, increasing in volume to cover her screams. It became the room. It filled it with terror and mad glee. And it only got worse as he picked up the knife.
My mother’s lifeless eyes stared at me, tinted with a life of remorse. Greasy strands of hair fell into her face, but I couldn’t move to push them away. Laughter echoed all around me.
“Why so serious?” he asks me turning and peering with dark eyes, his mouth laughing still.
I didn’t answer. There were no words left.
His eyes glare as his mouth smiles, his feet stepping closer and closer to me.
“Why so serious?” he shoves the blade into my mouth, it’s edge slicing at my lip. There was no happiness. Laughter pierced my skull, invading all that I had left.
“Let’s put a smile on that face!”
Shuffling feet brought along the thick stench of whiskey shots and urine like a noxious cloud. It clung to the peeling wallpaper and darkened the floor. Slippered feet slid across the cheap linoleum and white hands clenched the counter. Mother gasped as the light flickered.
“Where’s... th’ ...booze?” his voice cut through the air with slurred words. Mother shook her head. Her white hands were shaking and holding on for dear life.
“I said...where is it?!” he was shouting now. Shouting and reaching for an empty bottle on the table. He threw it at the cupboards, smashing it into sparkling crystal.
“WHERE-IS-IT?!” Louder now, and shaking too. Shaking with intensity only fury could unleash.
“G-gone.” Barely audible under the smashing of more glass and footsteps getting closer. One more step and her white hands shot across the counter. A knife gleamed in the flickering light.
“D’ you think you’re gonna CUT ME?” Angry laughter filled the room. “Bitch, you wouldn’ DARE.”
Struggle. Breathless struggle as she fought. Sweat gleamed on her forehead as she became the animal he forced her to be. He yelled in pain as red flashed across his stained shirt. No triumph was reflected in her eyes.
And then he broke her. Beating and punching her again and again, watching the knife fall from her hand, but not once reaching for it. Tears and blood mingled into streams down her cheeks, staining a face that hadn’t been perfect for eighteen years.
The knife gleamed in the flickering light.
Laughter pounded though the kitchen as he struck her, increasing in volume to cover her screams. It became the room. It filled it with terror and mad glee. And it only got worse as he picked up the knife.
My mother’s lifeless eyes stared at me, tinted with a life of remorse. Greasy strands of hair fell into her face, but I couldn’t move to push them away. Laughter echoed all around me.
“Why so serious?” he asks me turning and peering with dark eyes, his mouth laughing still.
I didn’t answer. There were no words left.
His eyes glare as his mouth smiles, his feet stepping closer and closer to me.
“Why so serious?” he shoves the blade into my mouth, it’s edge slicing at my lip. There was no happiness. Laughter pierced my skull, invading all that I had left.
“Let’s put a smile on that face!”
Literature
Joker's Journal - 2
Attempt 4
Today I'm too busy to write.
---
Attempt 5
Same as yesterday. I'm too busy to write.
---
Attempt 6
Ya see, Harley's trying to get me in the habit of writing everyday.
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Attempt 7
I'm humoring her. For now. A sentence a day isn't so bad. Whoops, this one's four sentences.
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Attempt 8
AHAHAHA I SEE WHAT SHE'S DOING! Little snitch! Look at that! Every entry is a tiny bit longer than the last!!! Look at it! How'd she make me do that!?
I know how. She possessed me.
She's possessing me again:
Oh hi, I'm Harley, I love The Joker, I love love love love love love him! It's all I ever talk about! How much I love love love
Literature
Joker's Journal - 1
She's nuts. I hate her. Sometimes. Never mind. Always. I was stupid to let a psychologist attach onto me. As if I didn't get enough pointless therapy in Arkham! I had to bring a doctor outside as my own personal advisor. Idiotic.
What is this? Its a journal. Me scribbling my "thoughts" on a paper. She's making me do it. She's watching me right now. I ask her what the hell to write, and she suggests writing my current actions. That's what I'm doing.
Now I'm out of things to write. But you know what's funny? I can't write that I'm staring at a blank piece of paper, because that would be lying. I can however, write "Fifteen minutes ago I was s
Literature
Joker's Journal 4
#26
Bruce's bodyguards really beat her up. The bruises appeared today. Looks like something I did. It pisses me off.
She's still ashamed of failing or whatever. No matter how many times I tell her it was no big deal, she still cries. It annoys the hell out of me.
So now I'm in a bad mood. My girl is sore and practically crippled, I have to hear her blubbering apologies every minute, and these damned geckos won't stop dropping feces in my sock drawer. They must be executed immediately. Every single one of the bastards.
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#27
I cleared out the bedroom on my own, eventually tying Harley to the bed after getting irritated at her many feeb
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This is a story I wrote about how the Joker got his scars. It is based on the first story he tells in The Dark Knight (because, overall, I believe it to be the most likely).
© 2008 - 2024 MasqueradeLover
Comments32
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I really liked your theory on little Joker.
Mine is a little different, it's a bit longer. I thought that something longer would fit. Because something pretty big would have to happen to make someone that psycho!!!
I started writing a story on it: [link] I'm writing chapter 2 now!
Mine is a little different, it's a bit longer. I thought that something longer would fit. Because something pretty big would have to happen to make someone that psycho!!!
I started writing a story on it: [link] I'm writing chapter 2 now!