Man In The Mirror

The first man you killed was your father.

"You know, it's your fault. Your. Fucking. Fault." Gesturing violently towards you, the rum splashes on the floor and onto your shoes.

"That's not true."

He takes another swig of rum.

"What did you say?"

Not angry yet, but almost there.

"That's not true."

Hesitant, but sure.

Chuckling. He shakes the bottle. Empty. He throws it at you. You duck. It shatters against the wall behind you.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

He's approaching you now, but you don't back away.

(Not this time.)

"THAT'S! NOT! TRUE!"

You killed her too.

She is floating. Her eyes are closed.

Mom?

Her lips are blue.

Mom?

You prod her arm lightly.

Mom?

She feels cold and stiff.

Mom?

You push her slightly.

Mom?

She sways back and forth.

He killed you.

You are not in the mirror. He pounds on the door and it shakes.

You are not in the mirror. Where are you? You touch your face.

The thing in the mirror touches his.

The Joker was born.

You draw your hand back. Red. The smell of iron. You reach for the mirror.

Your bloody fingers meet his.

He smiles at you.

You are not smiling.

The door breaks.

He liked knives.

"Come back here, you little fucker!"

Door slams. Lock clicks.

You rest your forehead against the wood.

You shake with your heartbeat.

The blade slices through the door.

You stumble back.

Now you like knives too.


A/N: I know, I know. I really should update my other stories. Unfortunately, I have been lacking both the time and the inspiration to do both of those things. I simply can't do romance. I have no experience with it. Oh well. I'll figure something out. Anyway, this piece is really experimental, so I'd love to hear feedback.

Thanks for reading!

(Edited 12/9/11)