Prologue

I slammed the door of my shitty apartment causing a tumble of picture frames to fall off a wobbly shelf. "Of all the fucking..." I mumbled gathering up the smashed frames. One picture stood out amongst the rest, a photo I captured of Batman. It was hardly professional, considering my real life job as a news photographer. It was just one second I caught him out the corner of my eye jumping from roof to roof. So naturally I took out my cell and quickly got a snap. I remember at that time, two years ago, Batman had just started making the headlines 'mysterious vigilanty yet to be caught' or 'people naming the city's new saviour Batman'. Why did it even matter anymore whatever Batman did he would never be able to stop crime in Gotham. I lost hope in this city just earlier today when I identified my ex-husband's corpse.

The whole time all I could think was, why couldn't Batman save him? I hated Harold, more than any ex I'd ever had. He was abusive, manipulative, and an ongoing meth addict. I couldn't escape from him, from my early life as a party hard careless teen. The girl who ran away and got married too fast. Still, I didn't wish death upon him. Especially the way he died too, by the Jokers hand. Must have been a drug deal gone wrong or what not. He ended up hanging from his feet from a lamppost, lips cut throught it's edges making a smile.

The joker, someone had to kill that man, he was a plague, I keep thinking it won't be too long before someone does and it never happens.

"Harmony, open the door," the voice of my grumpy, sexist, landlord said. I opened the door to the sour faced middle-aged man.

"I got a noise complaint, some sort of banging and crashing?" I rolled my eyes, seriously?

"C'mon, are you really coming up here to tell me I was making too much noise, how many times have a told you about that loser above me who has a different prostitute every night fucking his goddamn brains out!" I yelled. The landlord itched his head unnerved "sorry then I'll leave, just checking to see if someone broke in, rents due on Friday." It wasn't like me to yell, I just couldn't help how angry I was right now. At the whole world.

I slammed the door yet again, though I did it considerably softer. Then plopped on my hard spring mattress to cry. I felt guilty because I could only manage a few drops for my poor ex. The more I thought about it the worse I felt, until I convinced myself the bastard deserved it to keep from self-pity.