“Ah, the stories we tell,”, I thought. “They entertain us, they educate us. Sometimes, they can drive us positively mad.”
“I do love a room full of books, but not everyone does.”
You don’t know who I am! You have forgotten me!
I am Loki, your beloved storyteller, and it is time that I let you know what is happening to some of your beloved friends, before you forget them completely.
I placed The Joker in a room with no windows. The Joker? Aha! I knew you were in danger of forgetting him. I asked him to listen to music and meditate. He hated that. The Joker, my friends, hates to be left alone. Out, playing his evil pranks on others; watching them squirm – that is what he does best. Sitting in a room, all alone, with nothing to do but listen to music and meditate is pure torture for the poor fellow.
He started banging on the walls, and when I popped by one day to see him, he looked a shadow of his former, bedraggled self. He snarled at me, and tried to scratch and bite me.
Me?! Why would he do that? I am a nice little fellow. I am just that – poor, little Loki. A humble storyteller, with a passion for words.
So, I sat down, and tried to get him to think, and talk, about how he had managed his relations with his former friends and lovers, most notably that young lady, Harley Quinn.
“How have your relations been with the young lady?”, I enquired in a solicitous voice, innocence writ large on my face.
“That bitch….”, he snarled. “How dare she run off with that Mary Jane. She betrayed me. I am going to kill her…” Hate was written all over his face, and the spit dribbled from the corners of his red mouth, and ran down his cracked white makeup.
“What about Spidey and the Hobbits?”, I asked. “What about your relations with them?”
“What about them?”, he answered, a slight sneer spreading across his face. The spittle dribbled onto my nice, new carpet, I noticed, and stained it. “They are mere punks, just meant to do my bidding.”
“My, my”, I said. “My dear Joker. You do have a lot to learn about building relationships. Maybe…. Yes, maybe…. You need to read a little…”
I sniffed. A bad odour seemed to be coming from somewhere in the room. “My dear Joker,” I said. “You have not been having a bath! Sadly, now it is time for me to go, but not before I leave you with a little present.”
I snapped my fingers, and a few aerosol cans, with the loveliest deodorant appeared out of nowhere.
“Magic!”, I clapped with glee!
I left him, but I am sure you would like to know what happened to him. Yes? Oh, yes you do!
The wall started to crack. A small crack appeared at first, and ran the height of the room, from top to bottom. It widened, and behind the crack, the Joker beheld a Tower of Books! He shrank back against the opposite wall, screaming in anguish.
“No! Not books!”, he screamed, the madness, fear and loathing rising up inside him.
I knew it. The Joker cannot abide books.
Hee! Hee! Hee!
The Tower of Books, loomed large in front of him, pages flying open, words streaming out at him. The flying words, phrases, similes and lessons were enough to cause the madness to rise from deep within him.
He recoiled and scrunched himself into a tight ball, covering his face. All that I could finally see, was one eye, staring wildly at the books, as the words flowed around the room.
I left him there, and let the madness overtake him.
Ho! Ho! Ho!
I am such a nice person…