I'm a sucker for songtitles by The Killers.

Anywho, the beginning of a new story! Who else is excited? Just me? That's okay.

Cristism is wanted, good or bad! Leave a review if you want to make an author happy!

I had never been right in the head.

When I was a little girl, I would rip the heads off my babies. Tear the arms and legs from my babydolls, and once I even gave another little girl a cut for threatening to tell her mom that I stepped on her new Mary Janes.

That was in kindergarten.

Now I'm eighteen years old. Enough to vote, yet not to drink. Which was fine. Alcohol had been the main factor that had shattered my family apart.

You could say, things have been traumatic for me.

I've always been one to keep to myself, unless that's impossible and a reaction is inevitable. I don't talk to people unless they talk to me, and they should all know to leave me alone.

I'm happier that way.

I had graduated highschool in the spring with average grades. It wasn't that I wasn't smart, I just didn't invest myself much. I mean, what's the point anyways? Not much you can do with a broken life.

My hood was pulled up as I walked down 6th Avenue, the pocket of my hoodie was filled with my hands. I didn't stand out, I was only wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and jeans.

And yet, somehow, I had gotten the short end of the stick. We'll get to that later.

Footsteps approached me, and I didn't think anything of it at the time. After all, it was daylight, so who would try anything when the sun was out? Not many people were out today, most were at work, probably. It had to have been at least 3:00.

Anyways, the sound of feet hitting the sidewalk got louder and it sounded like the person had broken out into a light jog. I tilted my head to look at the stranger, only to get knocked to the ground. My body landed on the sidewalk with a light 'thud', and the thug had broke out into a sprint and disappeared out of my sight.

"Asshole.." I muttered, patting the dirt off the back of my jeans. Rude ass idiots who were raised without manners somehow never made my day any better.

And it turned out, he had taken my wallet from my back pocket. Great.

So much for going to the bookstore. Turns out, I'd have to visit the bank first. Something I was not looking forward to, after all that had happened months before.

But it was safe, right? The Joker hadn't been seen for a while, so it was unlikely that I would see him on an odd day like this.

My hood had fallen down as a result of being knocked on my ass, so I pulled it back up and jogged to Gotham National, not stopping to walk the whole twelve blocks.

Hurrying inside the large building, and walking through the revolving door, I had a bad feeling. I paused in front of the doorway and looked around at my surroundings. People were standing in lines at the desks, phones were ringing, everything was normal.
Until I, once again, got knocked down from behind.

"God dammit! That's the second time today!" I cried, exasperated and completely ticked off. I had landed off to the side of where I had been standing. I was okay, though. My arm had broken my fall.

"Is today National Shove the girl in the blue hoodie down day? Because I damn well didn't get the memo!"

A gun shot was fired out, and I paused my rant to look up for the first time since falling. I was met with, to my shock, clown masks swimming all through my vision. The masked criminals spread out throughout the bank and yelled demands to the workers and innocent bystanders.

"You've got to be kidding me.." I mumbled, laying on my back and rubbing my forehead with my hands. We all knew what those masks symbolized in this town, or better yet, who they symbolized. Two men (I think) were pointing their guns at me and yelled at me to stand up for reasons unknown.

Being the smart ass and idiot I was, I replied with,
"I thought in these situations, the bank robbers told the people to get on the ground?"

Laughter rang out from a location unknown, and everyone in the large space had seemed to freeze, including the clowns. A figure clad in purple and greasepaint emerged through the doors, emitting a loud, nasally chuckle as he made his way over to the spot I was laying.

The Joker was even more frightening in person.

"A gal with a sense of humor," he mused, toying with the unopened switchblade in his gloved hand. "Especially in a situation like this! I respect-ah that, kidd-o."

He bared his yellow teeth at me in a grin, his Glasgow smile almost touching his eyes, and I wondered for second or two how much smiling with those scars would hurt.

The room was still silent, his goons clearly not knowing what to do now that the Boss was here. The Joker paused, raised his eyebrows, and craned his head around to look genuinely curious at his men.

The got the message, and resumed doing their job of frightening the desperate people while other clowns worked the vault.

Meanwhile, it had looked like I had gained the attention of the most wanted man in the history of this city. I was always told that my mouth would get me into trouble.

"Sorryyy about the interr-up-tion, cupcake. Let's get back to where we were, hmmm?"
At this point, I had adjusted to a sitting position, and even though he was squatting down, he had a good amount of inches on me. I held his eyes with mine as he spoke, which he must not get a lot, because even though his face remained flat with the permanent smile, his eyes gave away his amusement.

"Allow me to ah, in-tro-duce myself. I'm the Joker." His tone was laced with false kindness, and he motioned to himself when the last part of the sentence was spoken. "And who," he drawled, swiping his tongue at the edge of his mouth, tonging at the scars, "are you?"

"I'm just somebody who came to the wrong bank on the wrong day."

My lack of a real answer made his face twitch. In one quick motion, to fast for me to react, he had brought the edge of his knife to the corner of my mouth while he other hand secured my head in place. When did he have time to flick open his blade and put it in my mouth without me even seeing? Cocking his head to the side, and working his mouth, he began to speak again, in a more rushed voice.

"You look like a Sara. So, Sara.
Do you want to knowww how I got these scars-ah?"

The infamous scar stories, told to the victim right before they died. He didn't wait for my answer, and cleared his throat before starting his story.

His hand cradling the back of my head tightened its hold, and my vision blurred. I blinked, and it came back, but his grip hadn't let up in the slightest.

"Once, I was -"

"Boss, the money's loaded up, and the police 'er on their way." Moments later, sirens could be faintly heard making their way to the bank. The Joker turned to look at the messenger clown, pulled out a gun from his purple trenchcoat and shot him square in the head, before turning back to me and crinkling his face with a smile as if stuff like that happened everyday.

Which, to him, it probably did.

"Looks like story time is going to have to wait-ah for laterrr.. Don't look so sad, Saraaa." He drew out the fake name into a somewhat of a purr in the back of his throat. With the blade still in my mouth, he leaned his head forward, putting his lips just above my ear, our faces were inches apart, and the smell of gasoline and a coppery kind of scent presented itself to my senses.

His breath tickled my neck, and even though I wanted to cringe away, I stayed perfectly still as he whispered lowly, in a sing-song voice,
"I'll see you sooooon."

Will the Joker make good on his promise to see our main character again? What story will he tell her if he does see her again?

Stay tuned to find out!

... Lame, I know ^ ha. Leave a review, I mean, nothing makes me happier than seeing another person's opinion on my writing! Don't be shy, I can see you! Yes, you!