Arthur. Fleck.
I'm standing in front of Arthur. Freaking. Fleck.
I've been dreaming about this for years.
I first read about Arthur (you may know him as The Joker) when I was in my early teens. I was captivated by everything about him. His pure dedication to taking down Gotham's so called "elite" had inspired many a crime of mine. Of course, it didn't hurt that the articles were accompanied with pictures showcasing his staggering, rugged beauty.
Suffice to say, I would recognize his devilish grin anywhere.
An immense stroke of luck somehow landed me in the cell directly next to his. I'm not sure what God I pleased to earn such fortune.
Last night, we spoke. As soon as I heard his angelic voice, I knew. It wasn't so much the sound of his voice that clued me in, but the passion behind it.
"One day you're up," he said, "and the next...you're a clown."
I was sure it was him after that.
We even shared a laugh. I will never feel so starstruck again.
I stayed up all night afterwards developing a plan.
My end goal is simple: free myself and Arthur. But it's the sinful desires of my flesh that complicate things even further.
Still, everything seems to going smoothly so far.
Step one, sending Arthur to the restroom, is complete.
The staff were less than pleased with my antics as they grabbed my arms and tried to restrain me. I managed to break free and, just as I suspected, this riled up the rest of the inmates in the room. Perfect distraction.
I ran to the bathroom where Arthur was and kicked down the door.
Finally, I am face to face with The Joker. Our only obstacle now is the pesky guard who stands in the corner with his arms crossed.
I grab the broom handle next to me and crack it directly in the middle of his empty seeming skull. He falls immediately to the ground.
Before Arthur can speak, I've broken the broom and shoved part of the handle through the door. Nobody can get in.
More importantly, nobody can get out.
