Mirror

It’s a draw between his plaque-infested amber yellow chompers and his intense, yet alluring, baby blues; I do not know which one is more enticing. He takes in the reflection in the half-shattered mirror. With a deep inhale and a mischievous grin, he forces out a piercing shriek of gut-busting laughter; gagging on his saliva. He begins to sob because of how batty he feels. The humor he found in his reflection was relentless.

His white face looked like the flaking of paint on an old-rusted metal dumpster. That’s what years of smiles can do to someone. The garnet-colored slop that had once been inside of a live being was now encrusted on his magenta-colored tuxedo; the once vital fluid now looks a copper brown.

Deceased carcasses are piled in the overly sized bathtub next to the villainous fool. He continues to gawk at himself in the mirror, only glancing at his dead work of art to his left every two minutes. He proceeds to play “Spin Me Round” by Dead or Alive on his colossal-sized boom box; he puts it on the maximum level of volume to tune out the sirens outside—let’s dance.

He violently grabs the first body from the pile of corpses and begins to prance around the horrific restroom gleefully. He dances like it is the final waltz of his entire expectancy. After throwing his dead victim to a dark corner where the light barley kisses its outer surface, he licks his lower cracked maroon chops and grins at his reflection again. The sound of racing footsteps coming up the stairs echo in his ears like the sweet acoustics of water falling down a dark cave; it almost sounds like “cuddle-weather” rain.

Grabbing his nineteenth century revolver, he begins to laugh manically. It’s not his usual hysterical laugh. This laugh sounded unsure of what to do next with the unloaded piece he is holding to his temple. The clock is ticking on his watch as he loads one in to the chamber. With a fast spin and a loud click, the gun was loaded. The handsome stooge took one last look at all the fine work he had done in the room; it smelled of fresh slaughtered swine.

A heavy thud from the roof amplified the room. The manic clown began to laugh like a young boy playing hide and seek with his older brother. He felt that it was finally time to start performing with his loaded toy. He pointed the small but lethal weapon to his temple; so sure that as soon as he pulled the trigger, he would win the game of hide and seek. Before he could bat an eye, a small black dagger flew from the open window and sliced his hand just enough to drop the gun and waste a perfectly good round on a deceased body. Holding his hand, he turned and looked at the glorious dark shadow of a winged demon.

He turned back around to the mirror and saw that he could not see this demon’s reflection—it disappeared. His laugh roared throughout the whole city once more. Not being able to kill his greatest enemy (himself) meant the game has just begun.

I am the joker—this is my reflection.

"To everyone that loves all things Batman,

I heard that a solo Joker Origins film was in the works so I decided to write a scene that I would hope to see in the movies one day. If you enjoyed this story, please feel free to leave comments. All criticism is welcomed. I love to learn from any mistakes that I have missed. This is my first story and I hope to bring you more." — Adrian