Arthur looked out of the car window. The sky was tar-black and the relentless pitter-patter of the rainfall danced on the roof of the car. The sound put him in mind of someone emptying a colossal bag of frozen peas on top of it.

The litter-strewn streets were never deserted no matter how grim the weather in Gotham could be. The residents dashed along clutching umbrellas, or lifting their coats above their heads as if they were afraid of drowning.
In spite of being sheltered from the late-night downpour, Arthur felt like he was in danger of drowning too. His lungs flooding with an overwhelming sadness, a sadness that made him want to reach for an oxygen mask and take a breath that wouldn't hurt.

It had taken all the strength in him to make the choice that he'd made. To leave Alice's house and decide to go it alone. After all, that's how it had always been. Him all by himself, making his way in the world, having learned to accept being lonely as if it was his fate. Forever damned and destined to be alone.

As the rain continued to hammer against the windscreen, he remembered how comfortable and happy he had felt in Alice's kitchen. The warmth and cozy glow of the lamps, as they'd sat together eating and talking, the rain outside not touching either of them. Now it seemed to be taunting him, reflecting his low mood and reminding him just what a fool he had been for allowing himself to believe that he was someone worthy of love and joy.

He should've known, happiness and love was never intended for him.

With the arrival of her ex boyfriend came this sobering realisation.

Arthur knew he could never be enough for someone as precious as Alice. The deplorable Travis was right about that much at least. He had nothing to offer her, and wouldn't be able to provide the security and stability she deserved.
She came from a different world. The opposite end of the spectrum. One of higher education and class, and he'd be damned if he'd drag her down with him.
He was already responsible for her losing her job. If he stuck around, it would only be a matter of time before he brought trouble to her door.
The thought of her being questioned by the police made his blood run cold.

So it was better to do the right thing, the noble thing, and stay the hell away from her, no matter how much it hurt.

Tilting the rear-view mirror down, he gazed dejectedly at his reflection, his tear-stained face staring back in defeat. The first tears hadn't come easy. They forced their way out of his tired eyes, no matter how tightly he squeezed them shut, seeping like sap from the cut in the bark of a tree. Then he'd given in to it and allowed them to flow freely. They showed the tears in his soul that without them how would the soul stay alive? He didn't want to become hardened, embittered and soulless.

Now his eyes felt raw, having cried so much he imagined having dust for tears.
He was pretty sure he'd never cried so much in his entire fucking life.
The bitter irony of it too, was unbearable. Like salt being poured into a wound that was yet to begin healing. Having his hand forced by Travis, the man's presence and opinions on Arthur's relationship with Alice, prompted him into leaving just as they were starting to make some interesting developments.

His fevered imagination conjured images of Alice in his minds eye. Of her dancing with him, that in itself was one of the best moments of his life, and then she'd touched him. Actually touched him in an intimate way. His chest still tingled where she'd scorched a path across his skin with her feminine touch, setting him alight.
No one had ever touched him like that. He was still struggling to process the enormity of it all. Her kissing him, decisively, openly, hungrily.

Him!
Arthur Fleck.
Not even as Joker, but plain old Arthur.

It was beyond all his comprehension. It made no sense. And though he couldn't even begin to fathom why she'd made that move, he couldn't have cared less for her reasons once she'd ensnared his lips with her own, claiming his mouth greedily, kissing him like she really truly wanted him.

She had made him feel again. Feel something he'd never before experienced, but only dreamed about. Even then the encounter had surpassed all of his expectations, turning his blood molten and making his brittle heart soar.

"I didn't imagine it." He spoke aloud, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "It happened. She kissed me, and touched me.....and she wanted to." He looked back to his reflection in the small rear view mirror. "She did want to. Didn't she?" Nodding his head, he felt the sudden urge to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The absurdity of himself. "You always do the stupidest shit! Why can you not do the right thing?" He scolded himself, feeling a sudden surge of anger and frustration. "Now you'll never know if she really wanted you or was just being nice....and if she did want you, well....it's too late now. You've blown it!"

Self-loathing took a firm hold of him, his anger spiked, and then he was punching the mirror.

Once; it bent sideways...

Twice; the glass cracked...

Three times; on the third punch the arm which held it in place snapped, breaking it beyond repair.

Arthur rubbed his right hand and sighed.

He needed some air. Some space. He'd been inside the car for too long and it was becoming almost claustrophobic. He felt trapped and suffocated by the confines of the metal contraption.

Yanking the door open he exited the vehicle and stood statue-like for he didn't know how long, simply breathing deeply, lost in his own tragic little world.
Rows of towering buildings stretched above him, like masses of ugly concrete soaring out of the sidewalk.
This was Arthur's world. This was where he belonged. Right there, on the grimy streets of Central Gotham, where he stood, alone.

A broken city embracing a broken man.

He'd returned to the streets that he knew only too well, like some kind of deranged homing-pigeon, expecting chaos. Instead all he'd found was a couple of burnt-out cars and smashed windows to prove that the riot had ever happened.
That wouldn't do. He'd enjoyed the carnage he had created, and the yen to see the entire city burn was enticing. When the time came, he decided his priority would be to have a front-row seat for the occasion, so he could witness the city being reduced to ashes around his feet.

The rain soon soaked through his grey hoodie, but he felt so numb on the inside that the cold didn't even seem to touch him.
Alice had bought him the hoodie, and it strangely made him feel closer to her somehow. Wearing it, he was able to trick his mind into pretending that she was all around him. Her love surrounding him, embracing him, serving as an umbrella from the rain.
Of course, in reality Alice didn't love him. But if he went on believing it to be true, there'd be no teardrops in his eyes. No pain in his heart.

He began walking as if in a trance, aimlessly trudging the graffitied streets, feeling at home with all the garbage piled high along the edge of each sidewalk.

The cityscape of Gotham was a jumble of shapes, like a child had cast blocks down randomly and then swept them so close together they touched.
An industrial-based smog of pollution coated the whole downtown area, acting as a milky filter, even in the rain. The fog softened the hard lines of the buildings, and diffused the green-orange glow of the sodium-vapour street lights.
Central Gotham was unapologetically urban. There were no trees or city planted blooms, just miles and miles of depressing grey asphalt. Admittedly at night the city was rather beautiful in it's own unique way, with the many twinkling lights and the all-night restaurants, bars, stores, clubs, and movie theatres.

But the likes of him could never afford the luxuries that the nightlife had to offer. Poverty prevented many residents from indulging in such frivolous pursuits. When you had to scrape together enough money merely to survive on the bare minimum of income, such doors were never accessible. So the poor had to pacify themselves by pressing their faces up against the glass, forever on the wrong side of the door, the red rope even, only able to observe with silent resentment as the rich wined and dined, and danced the nights away in swanky wine bars and vibrant night clubs.

Delving his hand deep into his pocket, Arthur pulled out the loose change he'd been carrying since he'd taken Randall's wallet.

Yes, he had stooped that low.
He had robbed a deadman.

Randall was surprisingly flush, his wallet having contained a wad of twenty dollar bills and $5 in pocket change. Arthur had taken the notes, stuffed them into an envelope and posted it through Sophie's door before setting off to the Murray Franklin theatre. He'd figured the young single mom could use the money to help support her daughter, little Gigi. He had also left the bunch of fake flowers on her doormat, by way of apology for having inadvertently terrified her with his odd behaviour.

Shit. Only a couple of days ago Arthur had thought he'd been strongly attracted to Sophie. Now he knew better. He had discovered the difference between naive infatuation and real feelings. Even the beauty of Sophie dimmed in comparison to Alice. She was the real deal. The complete package. Everything he could ever dream of and more besides. She was smart, funny, attractive, kind, and she even liked dancing and music.
If ever anyone were to ask him now if he believed in love at first sight, he wouldn't hesitate to say yes.
Yes, yes, yes.
And it had happened to him in dressing room 404 of the Murray Franklin theatre, on October 3rd 1981.
The date would be forever burned in his memory.
Love was a socially acceptable form of insanity, so no judge or jury could persecute him for having fallen madly in love. A love there was no cure for, so it was certain to drive him utterly insane.

Okay so technically, October 3rd hadn't been their first time meeting. But given the circumstances surrounding that first encounter on the subway, it was perhaps better left forgotten. It had traumatised Alice, and it made him feel wretched.

Spotting a cafe up ahead, his shuffling steps became long purposeful strides. The dingy light from the windows spilled out onto the street, illuminating the pavement. As he opened the door, the pungent waft of deep-fried food and grease almost made him recoil. Pulling up his hood to hide his green hair, he waited patiently at the counter for someone to serve him a cup of coffee.

The place was empty save for a pair of dubious looking characters, sitting hunched over a table in the far corner.

A balding, and exceptionally grumpy, middle-aged man took his order, grudgingly meandering over to reach for the coffee pot. He seemed more concerned with watching the old portable TV which was situated high on a shelf behind the counter, than serving customers.

Curious about what the man found so captivating, Arthur's gaze involuntarily slid over to the television set.
The grainy image of clown protestors immediately caught his own attention, and he strained his ears to listen to the news reporter,

"Police have yet to disperse the mob of clown protestors inhabiting Gotham's Amusement Mile. A statement issued from the state Chief of Police suggests they chose this particular location in an attempt to search for the Clown Prince of Crime, Joker, who reportedly worked as a party clown at Ha-Ha's entertainment hire agency..."

Arthur discreetly pulled his hood lower, as an image of himself in both regular clothing and Joker get-up, flashed up on the screen.

"......Amusement Mile has now become a temporary camp for the mob, who refuse to be moved and have dubbed the area 'Clown Town.' They are also appealing for their appointed leader, Joker, real name Arthur Fleck, to return. So far police have been unsuccessful in their search for the killer clown who is responsible for the uprising in the city, and it is feared by many that the rioters' revolt could escalate into a full scale rebellion, should their elected leader return...."

Arthur's face split into a wide grin as he stared at the TV, transfixed.
The disagreeable man serving him grunted something unintelligible, which Arthur thought was him asking if he wanted sugar and milk.

"Uh, two please, just a little milk. Thanks."

Practically throwing the money across the counter at him, Arthur muttered for him to keep the change, as he grabbed the polystyrene cup and made a mad dash for the door.

He squeezed the cup so tightly coffee spilt over the rim, burning his hand, but he paid no attention to it, oblivious to the pain.

His mind was racing, filled with wild possibilities. The thoughts came too fast, and there were too many, making it difficult to regain a modicum of rationality and control.
But his nerves jangled with excitement.

He had a following.
And they wanted him to return and take his rightful place as leader. After all, he was the one who had inadvertently started the movement in the first place.
He laughed raucously to himself, thinking how bizarre it was. He wasn't even political.
He'd told Murray so. He hadn't lied when he'd said that he didn't believe in anything.

Well, maybe one thing.

Love.

But there was little point harbouring unrequited feelings, carrying an enormous torch for the woman who he loved so much he'd had to let go, for her own sake.

Placing the coffee in the cup holder, he began the awkward procedure of changing his clothes in the car. It was a difficult and lengthy task, but worth the effort.
Once he had on his pants, shirt and waistcoat, he sat and recovered his breath for a few minutes, having worked up quite a sweat wrestling himself out of one outfit and into another.

He drank his coffee, then retrieved the broken mirror from the footwell of the passenger seat. The cracked glass was a bit of a hindrance but he was nothing if not resourceful, propping it on the dash so he could put on his happy face once more.

He now had somewhere to go, he mused, as he reached for the makeup palette, trying not to dwell on the thoughts of Alice it evoked.

Perhaps Gotham wasn't his world after all, but rather 'Clown Town'
There was other doors to open. Doors that were off-limits to the affluent inhabitants of the city. New dimensions to explore, which only became accessible once you lost your mind, and were broken into pieces on the floor.

Arthur Fleck was broken. Emotionally, mentally, and thoroughly heartbroken.

But as Joker, he had a purpose.

He was the Clown Prince of Crime.

Well, he wouldn't want to disappoint the public. The media. The police. The rich. The haters.

If they wanted a Clown Prince of Crime, then he wouldn't disappoint them. In fact, he would strive to do everything within his power to make sure he lived up to the title they'd bestowed on him.

And power was most definitely something he now had.