Adaption of The Joker
Harold Trent was an average man. He lived alone in a basic brick apartment building, spending his weekends inside on his sofa watching television. There was nothing significant about Harold.
So Sunday morning came as a surprise to him.
After the morning news, he went into the kitchen for a little breakfast. He ran his tap, drinking the water that spurted out by sticking his head underneath and then reached for a red apple.
When he took his first bite, it started to scream. Pretty loud for an apple, frankly. A high pitched wail emerged from near the stem, and eyes took shape, staring at him with a wicked anguish.
Harold dropped the apple. It hit the floor fairly hard, which only made it scream louder.
Harold looked around his kitchen, horrified. The four beige walls looked the same. The painting of a nude lady that hung on his wall was unchanged. He looked down as the black and white checkered tile floor.
It began to move.
Slowly, the floor began to roll, waves of tiles passing across, up and down, forcing Harold up and down in a rhythmic shift. He reached out for the counter to steady himself.
The apple continued to shriek.
Harold decided that the safest option for him would be to go to his living room, where the hardwood floor seemed quite sturdy. Four minutes later he reached his sofa, and sunk down in it, confused and terrified.
And that’s when he felt a chuckle begin to rise from his belly. It had no reason to exist, yet it started escaping his mouth, quickly turning into a hearty laugh, and then a roar. Harold’s eyes bulged, and turned bloodshot.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop laughing. A ghastly smile plastered his face, and he eventually froze, arms outstretched, clutching for life.
Harold died at 10:26am, right on schedule.
In fact, all 702 residents of Plainsville, Ohio were all dying or dead, as Jerome emerged from the Water Supply building on Elm Street.
Jerome was a tall man, perhaps 6’7”, with a pale complexion and a few nasty scars on his face. His all black suit, and black suitcase gave him a sinister vibe, which was offset by his companion, a short bubbly blonde in a bright red dress who trailed him singing Ring Around The Rosy.
The two meandered down the street, until the blonde finally asked him “What now, Mr. J?”
He turned to her, smiling broadly to crease the scars on his face, and said “Now we have fun.”
More to come.