The Jokester

Chapter 13: Deconstructed

Trigger Warnings For This Chapter: Cursing, Mental Illness Traits, Hallucinations, And Mentions of Violence.

   Pinky paced in circles nervously. This was it. This was his chance to vouch for Brain. I can do this. I will do this.

   After more self-convincing, Pinky took a breath of courage and stopped pacing. "Here we go." He knocked on the door labeled 116.

   A guard opened the door, eying Pinky curiously. "Can I help you?"

   "My name's Pinky Wigerman. I'm here to do the comedy act." Pinky smiled and offered a handshake.

   The guard looked at a clipboard and nodded after a brief scan. "Ah. Yeah. You're on here. Step inside." He held the door open for Pinky.

   Pinky walked in, standing awkwardly as he looked around the plain open room. "Excuse me, sir, where do I go?" There were several other doors and halls.

   "Nowhere yet. I need to check you for weapons. Arms up, and I'll pat you down. "

   Pinky did as asked.

   The guard started on his chest and moved his way down to Pinky's pants pockets. After a couple of pats, the guard suddenly stopped. "Sir, I'm going to need you to empty your pockets."

   Pinky gulped and reluctantly did as asked. He pulled out his folded paper poster, key, and his knife.

   The guard raised an eyebrow and took the items. He set the key and poster down on a counter and examined the knife. "Any reason you have a kitchen knife on you?"

   Pinky swept his mind for possible answers before settling on one that sounded realistic. "Well, it's a crazy world out there, sir. Gotta keep myself safe. Zort!" Pinky hoped the explanation would be accepted and was glad he remembered to wash off the weapon before he left.

   The guard seemed pleased with the response and set the knife down by Pinky's other items. "Yeah, okay. Well, come back here after the show to have your things returned." He pointed at one of the doors. "Enter that door there and walk down the hall until you see another door with your name on it."

   Pinky sighed a breath of relief. He pointed to the poster. "Oh, that's got stuff for my act on it. Can I have that?" He was handed the poster and followed the instructions of the guard. When he found the door with his name on it, he stood there a moment to admire it. "Naarrrrf." It's like I'm famous! He pushed through and was even more fascinated with the inside of the room. A long counter lined with cute stools, a rack of beautiful suits and dresses, and a massive mirror decorated with extra bright light bulbs.

   Pinky walked in slowly, taking in the striking scenery. This place is wonderful! Oh, I wish Brain could see it! He sat down on one of the stools and looked at his reflection. He leaned in and hummed. He could touch up his makeup a bit. He looked around and was pleased to see a bunch of makeup shoved in the corner of the counter. He reached over, delicately selecting the items he needed.

   Pinky lifted a brush to use first and began powdering his face.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

   Brain sat alone in his padded cell, singing a made-up song to help occupy his mind. He stared at the door as he sang. Any minute now, she should be walking in to talk to him. One of the asylum's psychologists. He didn't want to talk to her, but she was preferable to the detectives and other asylum workers.

   He finished his song, and before he could start another, the door to his cell opened. He shut his mouth and glared at the woman who walked in. She was preferred, not liked.