Chapter 1 : The Winning Hand
''Guess I had the winning hand.''
An eldritch cackle escaped from his lips. Stitching on a smile, Joker refrained himself from proceeding to laugh at the scene. For some reason, he found it horrifically hilarious. Nowadays, people tended to make the most obscure things legal, so he didn't see anything wrong with having a little fun at a funeral. A very picturesque funeral indeed. He remembered every bit of sculpturing and painting the scene, making it entrance the viewer in awe.
Three men, dressed plainly in black, hung above the Poker table, dangling like a child's toy in a crib. Them type of toys were good for cognitive and visual stimulation, and oh boy, they worked like a charm, as his eyes were descried onto them. Similar to how a predator stalked its prey, in a way. Yawning, Joker outstretched his arms, then began rubbing his eyes.
''Not going to lie, that was a long game. I guess I was quite occupied in thinking about a handful of things, while we had that little game. Sorry If I wasted your time, but, to be honest, you were going to go to hell one day anyway, so why not today? After all, it's Día De Los Muertos. Time to meet your ancestors.''
Pausing for a second, he played his gloved hand to his parted lips, thinking slightly.
''For a parting-gift, how about a little sing-song, eh? Rock-a-bye-baby on the treetops..'' Standing on the poke table, he began swaying the bodies gently. Once he had finished his nursery rhyme, he jumped off, bowing, as he took his hat off. Remaining in that position for a split second, Joker's smile vanished into thin air, welcoming a lackadaisical version of passive rage. ''Nobody is going to applaud me? After all of this effort I put into that little dance?..''
It was as if his mood had altered completely, diffusing into a murderous silence.
Placing his hat under his arm, he began to clap for himself. Each clap was like a pin cutting through the air, like somebody laughing at a burial, like Joker appreciating himself for killing 3 people in cold murder. Well.. the room was warm enough to hide it, as it was accompanied by a metallic- fragrance lingering around. It was the most sweetest thing he'd ever smelt.
And just like that, he threw his hat, encircling the victims, then coming straight back into the hats rightful place : the gloved hand of the devil himself. The ropes holding up their meaningless bodies, snapped after a second as he touched the side of his hat lined with a sharp blade. Blood dripped from it, onto his newly - purchased shoes. He sighed, smashing his foot into one of the dead bodies repeatedly. Kick after kick, inhale after exhale, he didn't stop until he got a text.
[♥] Show's about to start. Where are you? The fire will kill me within a minute. Don't be late. [♥]
Placing his phone back inside his slim pocket, he urged himself away from the bodies. Each of their blood came into contact with each other, cross-contaminating. Letting out a little 'Ew', he made himself to the adjacent window. He slung it open , stepping onto the windowsill. He tipped his ashen fedora back onto his head, adjusting its position, tilting it slightly to the right.
He glanced back. A sly smile sculpturing his face.
''Au revoir! And cheers for the game! ''
And with that Joker left...
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
TheTeaService
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