Property Of Joker | ✓

39 | compulsion

39 | compulsion

(n) the use of power to impose one's will on another

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                    Turns out. He wanted me to do the whole crashing the funeral thing.

"But." I interrupted him. "I don't exactly know how to do it.. this is new for me.. I need help." I said, my tone dripping with desperation.

"Come on." He purred and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at me. "Impress me."

I thought of last night, as we had dinner, we had talked and joked about everyone and everything. My heart warmed at thought of laughing together with him. I felt myself in that vortex again. The vortex, the dimension where only him and I exist.

Us.

I didn't care about anything else last night, it was just me and him, talking and having fun. It was so perfect, I wanted more of it. But, I yawned, and he asked me to go to bed. Its only then I looked at the time and realised it was one in the morning. We had been talking straight for four hours. We never talked about us or the kissing or our relationship. It was just common topics. Some of the questions he asked me are so funny I still laugh at them in my mind.

I smiled goofily and realise that I have to crash this funeral hard if I want moments like that with him more. I have to impress him. Something extraordinary. Something he would have never expected. I have to do something mind-blowing.

Mind-blowing?

Wait.

I know something that can blow minds.

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I walked, trying not to wet my heels too much in the mud, because it just had rained. The funeral was all black clothes and white waxy faces, every one of them with puffed red eyes. I walked through the churchyard, glancing at the coffins lined up neatly in the stage-like setup.

Families were crying and comforting one another. I gulped. All this sadness was sickening and I didn't like it. I wanted everyone to be happy. I wanted everyone to celebrate. Why do people even cry during someone's death? They should celebrate!

People should celebrate the life of the dead ones, celebrate the times they had with them, give funny speeches about them and send them to hell or heaven happily.

I saw police force surrounding the area, some of them having a can of orange juice in their hands. About more than seventy people had turned up and I recognised most of them from Arkham Asylum. I raised my eyebrows, analysing the place and narrowed my eyes at a familiar guard I see everyday.

He is one of the guards infront of the Joker's cell. He seemed sad, sitting on a chair, staring at a mahogany coffin in front of him. I peered over at the coffin to see the other guard, the other one who guarded Mr. J's cell.

Don't tell me that those guards are gays.

Luckily, they didn't have eyes for Mr. J.