Impulse

Sentiment

The Joker's grip on her neck increased, watching Harley's eyes as they began to fade. A stray tear sprung to her eyes and rolled down her face, splashing onto his hand.

Maybe I will kill her. He thought, watching the glistening drops hang on her lash line.

The Joker pulled her forward against him. Now both nose to nose, his hot breath danced along her face, taunting her. He examined her features in confusion, there was no more fear... Absolutely nothing behind her eyes, apart from tears.

Another thing that struck him as odd was that he couldn't read her thoughts... Every time he killed the victim would always beg for mercy, always bargain their life in one way or another. Even going as at as begging on their hands and knees so that they could live.

But not Harley, she genuinely didn't seem to care anymore. It was as though she had accepted her fate, accepted that fact that she wouldn't be able to change his mind.

"Mr J..." She managed to let these last few words escape her lips with a gasp. Her eyes suddenly rolled to the back of her head, allowing a few more tears to escape before her lashes fluttered shut. Just before everything went black, the last thing she saw was his face turn from a sickening grin to a growl of anger.

Her body went limp still under his grip. The Joker stared a her unconscious form, absolutely livid that she gave up... That she begged for death instead of life. j threw her body to the floor in disgust, watching her head bounce as she fell.

No fun.

He strode over back to her desk, 'Accidently' kicking her body as he walked round her. Lets see shall we. The Joker sat on her chair and started to rummage through her desk draws.

"Mmm.. What do we have here? Stress ball, aha! Mmm.. papers, papers and more papers. Oh hang on, is that? - Yep, yes it is." He produced a photo album, that was wedged in the back corner of her desk, shoved underneath loose paperclips and textbooks. The photo album was a soft red leather, looking at the condition, he could tell it was rather old, probably a hand-me-down. Joker opened the first page, and inside sat a delicately written inscription.

Harleen,

Happy 18th Birthday. You're the best daughter any parent could ask for,

You've brought Joy and pride into our lives and our hearts.

With all our love,

Mum and Dad.

xx

The Joker couldn't help but chuckle at the words laid out in front of him. He noticed how the page was wrinkled slightly, probably the cause of tears that hadn't dried straight against the parchment. He skimmed through the pages, scrutinizing the old photos of her and her parents.

One photo stood out from the rest, it wasn't in a plastic sleeve like the others. This was a photograph of her and her father kneeling in front of a Motorbike. She couldn't of been any older than 16. Smiles plastered on both their faces as they stared right into the polaroid camera lens. Joker noticed how this phot was bigger than the others, obviously taken out of a photo frame and placed in here, but why?

Poor little Harley, sentiment is a weakness girl. He giggled, throwing the album at her limp form. The Joker then leant back onto her chair, turning towards her and putting his hands behind his head.

"What to do with you now? Assuming your alive?..." With that thought he leant closer watching the shaky rise and fall of her chest. "Yeah, the little brats alive. I could take off, leave the bitch. I could take her bike and escape this dump... It's a no brainer.