Her Toxic Mind (On Hold)

P R O L O G U E

A black SUV was seen zooming down the empty road causing smoke to cloud around the area, attracting walkers from nearby farms. In the drivers seat sat a colourful looking woman, hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, humming loudly to a CD she had found in one of the compartments. Harley wasn't sure where she was going, she didn't care. She lost her Puddin, her Joker. Driving erratically allowed her to grieve.

The car screeched to a halt, causing Harley to jerk forward, jolting her from her daydream. She growled in frustration and smacked her fists against the wheel. She sat back and pouted for a while, contemplating on what to do next. She was in the middle of nowhere.

After a while, Harley ditched the car and chose to wander on foot, her beloved bat effectively smashing the head of any walker or 'fucker' as she liked to call them, came close. If they somehow managed to survive, they would meet their deaths from the heel of her boot.

It was silent as Harley strolled down the road, the only sounds being the clicking of her heels and her bat dragging against the ground. The pig tailed girl had not eaten in two days, she was beginning to feel the exhaustion. Being alone made the situation even more overwhelming for the girl. She was covered in walker guts to disguise her as one. Smart move. Apart from the fact she was still bleeding freely from what could quite possibly be the last injury inflicted by the Joker.

The apocalypse had changed Harley, no doubt about it. Before the world went to hell, she was working as a psychiatrist in a mental institution for the criminally insane. Near the very beginning of all this, she met the Joker and he just about turned her inside out, losing him was the worst thing that could've happened to Harley. It's ironic how someone who helped to "cure" the insane ended up turning into something worse. It's quite possible that she was even more twisted than the Joker himself when wrapped around his little finger. She'd never be the Harleen Quinzel she once was.

The young psychopath could feel her body weakening, giving up on her. Her vision was blurry, she knew she'd pass out soon. She had to get off the road or she'd certainly become bait. Harley dragged her tired feet over to a large open field and sat down cross-legged, pouting and feeling sorry for herself. Hungry, thirsty and depressed from losing the Joker, she wanted nothing more than to sleep the world away at this moment. Killing people had been harder, conscience would gnaw away at Harley's mind. At times like this she yearned for her Puddin' to be by her side, telling her to suck it up, saying it gets easier. 

"Well, well, well. Lookie here boys! We finally got her." A voice, followed by whistling, pulled Harley away from her thoughts.

Negan stood beside the tired Harley. She was immediately on high alert, grabbing her bat and standing up in a rush, meeting the gaze of the sinister man. "Do I gotta kill ya now or what?" Harley questioned with a raised eyebrow, placing her bat over her shoulders.

"Wow, you got some balls saying shit like that to me." Negan mused, eyeing Harley's bat and smirking.

"Welp, I ain't sticking around for this! I got places to be." Harley waved her free hand and started walking again.

"I think you better come with us, pumpkin."