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The Joker

I was running through a small, tight hallway in what looked like a cheap, dingy Manhattan apartment building. I ran past the railing and skimmed my fingers on top of it. It was ice cold. There was commotion behind me but I kept running. I really didn't know what I was running from.

I reached a brown-green door and kicked it open. So ferocious of me, so unlike me. I only act this way if I am protecting someone I love.

I cleared the way and waited by the door as a tall man with pale skin, blonde-green hair and a wide, red painted smile on his face. Our eyes met as he ran past me. His dark eyes, usually enriched with his belief, were gentle. His eyes were thankful as he looked at me.

I stood there, flabbergasted at what I felt. I was cold. I don't know if it was the building itself, or the fact that I would never see him again. Sadness rose up my throat.

He came back. He looked at me, now with sad eyes. He dropped the detonator in his hand and palmed my cheek. He stroked my hair, and showed me his frightening, wonderful smile. His smile dropped, he gave me one last look of sadness, and ran away.

At that moment, I knew the man who everyone feared. I knew there was goodness behind the scars of his childhood. I knew him before he went insane. I knew him before he was The Joker.

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