The Makeup of the Joker - DC Fan-Fiction

The Makeup of the Joker Part 1

(Joker DC fan-fiction)

The Makeup of the Joker

The secondary school classroom was rowdy since Mrs Wokemour arrived unexpectedly late. A small skinny quiet boy remained quiet with his head in a science textbook. He tried to turn the pages quickly to catch up to today's lesson given the extra twenty minutes. Paper balls missile around the young adult's heads along with pens and bubble gum. A blond girl behind the skinny boy managed to deflect the incoming from disturbing Jay. 'Quit protecting the loser, H. Little fucker gonn'a get twice that in next class', the tall kid shouted.

Mrs Wokemour entered with a rush in her step and instantly barked at the students to turn to page fifty-six. The class obeyed and settled down. Jay thrashed at the pages ahead of his bookmark. However, the projector showed dissimilar content just before failing to function. He flicked to another page checking the numbers, looking at another student's copy who then turned the book away from him out of disassociation. 'For crying out loud, you're not using the right textbook!', Mrs Wokemour shouted with pure frustration. 'Retard', the tall kid at the back shouted over as the others laughed. Jay hadn't realized he was that far behind. The teacher couldn't find another book in the desk drawer and demanded the pupil next to him share. Jay gritted his teeth but hid his anger as the other pupil held the page up from the center to antagonize Jay further. The pair began to tug on the textbook and bash their knees together until a page was torn out in the kafuffle.

This corner of the high school was quieter than the rest. Alone in the corridor, Jay stood in anger outside, banished from the class. His pencil rolled hard between his fingers after he'd ran them over the brick walls out of anger management. His breathing was heavy with no one to expel it on too. 'This is my fuckin' school too!' Jay said, right at the moment the head-of-year passed him by. He stopped mid-flow and shook his head at Jay in a replication of uncountable times they'd been in this situation. 'Here so little and when you show up you're the clown of the class. It's a pity for those who want to learn who have to put up with this', the head-of-year said walking off again sick of hearing excuses.

Jay fell against the wall, his head down in a vacant stare stronger than steel until suddenly, his mind told him to laugh louder than his heart told him to cry. 'Ha-ha-ha-ha'. The tears of anger and injustice sunk back for the first time in his troubled young life. 'Pathetic', the head-of-year teacher said, before he turned out of the corridor. The anger in his blood continued to grip his thin muscles but his mind had no other avenue but to laugh it off louder with the further insulting comment. The wooden pencil rolled and rolled between his fingers until it snapped.

Forty minutes of Jay's young life passed just as slow as his lonely nightly walks at the old fairground had done.

The pupils left the last class of the day, some mocking Jay as they passed by. The blonde girl hung around with her only friend at the end of the corridor. Her blue eyes analyzed Jay and his red knuckles. Her heart ached at his too-short trousers with ink stains on them.

Mrs Wokemour exited the classroom ordering H and her friend to clear off home. She had forgotten Jay was waiting until she saw him three meters down the corridor. 'Just go home, young man there's nothing I can say to change you!', she said,  her hands above her head reaching for a god to drop her answers to the problem-child. 'Ha-ha-ha-hahhaahah', Jay laughed at her exaggerated performance. He imagined the encore of the other faculty to validate her state of mind in a supportive circle like adult versions of his class students. The adult-like mockery in his belittling laugh towards Mrs Wokemour cooked her ears and swelled her eyeballs the same way her ex-husband's laugh did. She marched towards Jay when his pencil slipped out his hand and under her heeled shoes...

The loud crack of Mrs Wokemour's head on the ground alarmed nobody since the two were alone now. Jay looked at her static eyes and open mouth crouching down until her face filled his field of view. The rattle of the broken pencil rolling on the floor hit the double doors at the same time her blood pool kissed his old fairground prized trainers. 'You're ruining my only pair of trainers you fucking wretched old whore', Jay said demanding that she, even in death, should recognize her mistakes. He fished through her inner overcoat and took a dollar from her purse — the same amount the fairground game cost him to play the "rigged" card game. Nevertheless, there was something else, a picture of her and some schmuck happy on a beach somewhere. Jay stood sharply and slammed the purse into the dead woman's face. 'No more easy-winning lifestyle for you', Jay said smiling off down the corridor of the empty school but not after flipping the gas tapes on in the science classroom and lighting Mrs Wokemour a cigarette that angled out her dry mouth.