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.
I smiled at the thought of that, and thought of what Mr. J would have done if one of those guards fell in love with him. I started giggling silently but I covered it with my hand, trying not to laugh too much.
I walked towards the guard and sat down on the chair beside him. He felt my presence and looked up, pure shock running through his hazel eyes.
"D-Dr. Quinzel? You are a-alive?" He asked, astonished, his eyes wide open and his mouth ajar.
"Is that how you greet people?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
He quickly composed himself. "No. Its just that... I thought you would be the first one to be killed by the Joker."
"But, I am alive!" I said, throwing my arms up and gave him a smug smile, adjusting my glasses up my nose.
"And that's good to hear." He paused. "I still can't believe he didn't kill you."
"Why?"
"I mean... the first psychiatrist who treated him committed suicide, second got killed, third fled the city, fourth went on to be one of his slave-men, fifth became dumb, sixth died during the session because of a heart attack and so on..." He dragged, raising his eyebrows.
My eyes widened at what I just heard and after a few more seconds of just staring at him, I bursted out in laughters, trying really hard not to make too much noise. All his psychiatrist before are just scaredy-cats.
No wonder I became a legend when word got out that I found The Joker's name. I covered my mouth, trying to suppress all the laughing, while the guard was trying was gesturing me to calm down.
"Have you seen him after the massacre?" He asked, his face turning serious and he looked over at the coffin in front of him again.
"The Joker?" I asked, "No."
I lied smoothly and pursed my lips.
"Did he try to contact you?" He asked. I shook my head. "Did he even do anything to you?"
"No." I said.
"You are one lucky psychiatrist." He said, narrowing his eyes at me in shock and confusion while rubbing his chin.
I am.
I thought and looked around at the people who were walking, placing wreaths and flowers on coffins, the smell of too many flowers mixing in the air, making me dizzy. It wasn't like the smell in Ivy's garden. In her garden, it was addictive. Here, it was sickening.
I sighed.
Time for action.
I stood up and excused myself, walking away to the exact spot where I had planted my button in the ground. It was hard to hide it away but with a little advice from Ivy, I got it hidden well and I gave myself a lop-sided grin, and looked at the spot beside the huge mango tree in the churchyard.
Looking around, I didn't notice anyone looking my way, after a few more seconds of staring at everyone talking, families, friends, and future generations, I stamped my feet hard on the ground and stood still.
An instant later, there was a blinding flash, like sheet-lightning, and a huge ball of varicolored fire belched upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings to float more slowly after it. Everything happened fast.
A series of golden-red flashes broke out, lifting and spreading the incandescent radioactive gasses, and then a great gush of flame rose. A column of pure hydrogen rushed up into the vacuum created by the explosion; the next blast of flame, in a lateral sheet and great rags of fire, changing from red to violet and back through the spectrum to red again, went soaring away to dissipate in the upper atmosphere. The very muddy ground I stood shook violently and I placed my hand on the bark of the tree beside me to stop myself from tripping over.
The fire didn't come near me, it was all cirling around me, the grass burning but not the one I was standing in. And, it was all due to Poison Ivy. She had given me fire-repellant body spray which she had showed me when I visited her garden the other day.
It worked well.
Screams of people erupted everywhere, people were on fire, some exploding into pieces, crying of children could be heard. All the coffins which were lined up were exploded, revealing the pale bodies in them who were in pieces, scattered everywhere.
I heard the familiar sound of a car behind me and turned around to see Mr. J giving me a wide grin through the car window, holding onto the steering wheel.
I grinned back immediately and made my way to his car. Walking past people running with fire on their body, crossing over and avoiding the dead bodies lying on my path to the car, not wanting any blood on my beautiful shiny black heels.
I smiled, proud of myself as I looked at Mr. J. He was grinning widely, looking at me the whole time. Reaching the car, I pulled open the car door and hopped in. Turning my head to him, I smiled even wider, and he grinned wider, laughing in happiness. His eyes scanned over my body seriously for a second to see for any sign of injuries. He purred, softly leaning in closer to my face, his icy blue eyes giving me butterflies.
My heart fluttered.
"Call me impressed."
I laughed, feeling excited and happy, with a loud rumbling of the car, we drove away.
And, the last one, fell in love with him.
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Hello!
Does anyone feel like crashing a funeral too?
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