The Jokester

Chapter 1: A Place Called Hamington

Trigger Warnings For This Chapter: Blood, Mental Health Issues, Some Violence, And Cursing.

    "One day, the world will look to me for mercy." The name, Debby Lane, shone particularly bright on its plastic name tag today. The woman it was attached to lacked such a quality. Her face was tired and stern. Overworked and underpaid. She closed the notebook from which she had read and folded her hands together on top of it. "What do you mean by that, Mr.Brain?" Her voice suggested forlornness. She knew there wasn't a point in asking questions, but she put the effort in any way, albeit minimally. Her brown eyes dared to look up into the strange, pink eyes of her most troubled client.

   The short, chubby man blew out a long drag of smoke. "Nothing yet, I suppose. It'll matter when I take over the world, though. Don't worry. I wanna make it a better place."

   "You wanna take over the world?" She handed over the journal to its owner. "Why do you wanna do that?" The image of the irascible man ruling over was almost funny. It would have been if she wasn't so stressed or her client was joking. He never joked, though.

   He tucked the journal into his jacket. "I'm certain I've told you before." He crossed his arms. Typical. Even the social worker assigned to him didn't listen, and she was getting paid to do so. If it wasn't for the medication he needed her to sign off on, he would have stopped coming a long time ago.

   The woman shrugged and sighed. When you had over thirty people assigned to you, it was hard to remember every little thing. She didn't expect him to know this, though. "Does it help? Coming here to see me?"

   He ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Are you able to increase the dosage of my Bupropion?"

   She glanced down at her desk and scanned his medication profile. An eyebrow was raised. "You're on five medications, Mr.Brain. None of them are helping enough?" He had been prescribed antidepressants, antipsychotics, and a sleeping medicine.

   "Is that a yes or a no?" Obviously, if they were doing enough, he wouldn't be asking. Being questioned constantly was so annoying. All he wanted was to feel fine. And, of course, the world.

   "I'll suggest they increase it. There's no guarantee they'll allow it, though." Debby had heard talk of this faction being shut down soon. If that was the case, she doubted anyone would be interested in paperwork from people in her position. Mental health was a low priority in this city, which she found odd, considering she knew of no other town that needed this kind of help the most.

   Brain huffed just seconds before a timer went off. He got up and dusted the non-existent dust from his black slacks. "Time's up. I'm leaving."

   As he closed the door to the cramped office behind him, he heard the woman remind him to show up next week. As if he would forget something routine for him for the past year. He rolled his eyes and ascended the stairs, heading for the main doors. At the top, he caught his breath and then prepared himself for the cold air of Fall. He buttoned up his jacket and placed his hands in his pocket. The half-mile trek to the more populated downtown area was made, and he stuck his thumb out, waiting for a taxi to take him to the train station.

   While he waited, he took note of the people around him. They all moved so fast and vigorously. The people of this town were angry, just like him. Trash lined the city streets, and homelessness was at an all-time high. "Oof!" He steadied himself before he fell onto the ground. He turned to bark at whoever had shoved past him, but they were already gone. "Mongrel."

   A taxi pulled up by him, nearly edging up onto the curb. Brain shut the door and disclosed his destination. When he looked up, he could see the eyes of the driver looking at him through the rearview mirror. It looked like they had considered saying something but stopped upon seeing Brain's harsh gaze.