A Three Jokers Orgin story. So there's been a lot of Joker in the news lately. Lots of debate about giving him an origin story. Should he have one? Should it be multiple choice? Should it be a mystery? Well I'm curious by nature. I love the origin s...
Every moment spent with J just becomes harder than the last. Especially when I have to supervise him during a shower. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. J isn't the only one who loses all control when I'm around. I too lost it whenever I was near him. There shouldn't have been a single thing that attracted us to one another, but it seems as if everything attracted us. I wish I could hate him, everything would be so much simpler that way.
"Checkmate," the Joker sighs and points through the glass at the chessboard in front of me. "The queen," he instructs me on which piece to move.
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Believe me, I know he's bored to death, but all the literature I've recently binge read about addiction says that boredom is the first trigger. While I can't prevent his boredom, I can keep him locked up until he quits craving drugs. Excessive? Yes, I know, but J usually doesn't make things easy. This is for his own good. It's for the greater good to Gotham.
"Damnit," I frown and study the board. J was exceptionally good at chess. Hell, at any game you played with him. I don't know how one person can be that lucky without cheating, but he didn't cheat. You can't cheat through glass and he wins every game we play.
"I don't wanna play anymore Bruce," he says and looks away.
"That's fine," I nod and watch as he gets up off the floor, "we'll just pick it up tomorrow."
"I don't want to pick it up tomorrow," I hear him sigh again as he brushes his hair back with his fingers. "I'm tired of board games."
"Would you prefer video games?" I ask him, "Jason has..."
At the mention of Jason's name he whips his head around. "I don't give a shit what you've bought for your...your ward!" He snaps.
I have no response and can only watch as the wild tiger starts to pace his undersized habitat in the zoo. He clenched his fists, he gnashed his teeth, his eyes were wide, and his steps heavy. And he glares over at me like I would be his last meal, if only he could reach me.
"Talk to me about what you're feeling J," I say. It didn't take a psychiatrist to see he was struggling under the surface.
He looks at me as if I were stupid.
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