"Everyone thinks they're the hero of their own story. Me? I've always known I'm the villain."

– Handsome Jack.

Preface

You, oh you.

Where did you come from? One day you came along and I was turned upside down and shaken and parts of me fell out that I don't think I'll ever get back again.

Did you ever love anything before you became a beast?

You broke me and made me what you wanted, pushed and pushed until I snapped and then you threw me down; stomped and jumped up and down to make sure I was really good and shattered. You made me into something broken. Broken and alone and nobody's, not even yours, because that's how you like me until you

Go. People always try to figure out where the hell you came from. Who are you? What happened to you? A man with no past, with no identity except the painted face and the wicked laugh. How can one man be so many things and yet no one at all?

Fate. Destiny. Do you believe that everything

happens for a reason? That your life has a predetermined script that was written even before you were born? That someone out there, greater than you—greater than all of us—has a plan for you? Maybe. Or maybe it's all just a series of choices.

There are the easy choices, the ones that you don't even have to think about as you make them… and then there are the hard ones. The ones that you're going to remember the most. The ones that will keep you awake at night, and the ones that will be at the front of your mind even as you take your last dying breath. The hard ones are not always the bad ones, either. There is such a thing as a hard good choice, because the right thing to do doesn't match up with what your heart is urging you to do…

I guess it all comes down to perspective, doesn't it? Once, I heard someone say that morals are what separate men from beast. But I don't know about that. I think everything has a story.

And miracles? Miracles don't happen. That much I'm certain of.

It's not like I planned to be crazy, you know? I don't even think of

myself that way. When I was little I dreamed about being a cop. Can you believe that?

A freaking cop. I guess things went the other way for me. But I've got a family back home that loves me and a dependable job

waiting for me and I guess that's more than most people can say. I'm not a waitress, if that's what you're thinking. Not a maid, either. Right now I guess

you could say I'm a career couch potato. At the moment I'm between gigs, you see. I've been institutionalized. But every day between one in the afternoon

and six in the evening I'm here, on this couch, watching the commercials. Don't much care for the programs anymore. Can't have my HBO, it's not even worth it.

But the commercials… those tell me what I need to know. They keep me up to date with what's going on outside these walls, and that's important, you know?

It can be easy to get caught up in all the drama that happens in this place, and believe me, there's a LOT. But the commercials advertise what

people want. They are the newest and most exciting things that

the civilized world has to offer.

And as long as I know that,

it's like I'm still human.

Except that I'm not.

I've been to see three different

doctors, and I've got more diagnoses than

I care to admit.

But they all seem to

agree on one thing.

I'm a ticking time bomb.

Author's Note:

I started this for fun. I have more written, but I don't know if anyone is going to be interested since the formatting is a little wonky. Speaking of which, you can probably see my formatting best on a desktop browser on your actual computer instead of mobile. Full screen. The last section above is supposed to be the shape of an explosion. Haha, get it? And the words that are both bold & italicized make up other little thoughts for each separate section, sort of like Ellen Hopkins books and formatting if you've ever read anything of hers. I thought that sort of writing would be PERFECT for a Joker story, no? It's sort of a stream of consciousness almost.

Let me know if you want more!