This image belongs to DC.
When the fear of death subsided, the tension in my body melted.
The multiverse spun around me, as if I was in the center of some cosmic clock.
I saw pieces of me in parallel worlds.
The Joker’s disfigured face twisted into a scarred smile.
His pain was potential violence at rest, a merciless volcano awaiting release.
A rot wilier howled with great fear.
The old ladies didn’t know what to do.
The Archetype lived in a parallel world, yet also in here, my fragmented spirits.
If I am to become the most optimal version of myself, the superposition must collapse.
To collapse the wave function, the shadows must be reintegrated.
As within, so without.
The Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram.
I touched the Joker’s disfigured face. Only I could see the depth of his pain.
“I know why you take innocent life,” I said. “I understand you.”
Lava erupted from his white eyes, kinetic violence in action, but he could not touch me.
For I was an invisible spirit, his higher self.
Then he collapsed on the floor, his body contorting. He was foaming at the mouth.
He telepathed images of the darkside, disturbing hence silent.
As he writhed in my arms, choking on his own tongue.
“I know, Brother.” I said. “I know.
“Thank you for holding my pain, you beautiful soul.
“It’s time to come home.”
Then the blinding white light came from all around.
As Angels appeared to harmonize his song.
The demons fled his body as it dissolved into white ash.
Oh, and the ladies called the police.
No, the ambulance.
The howling turned to whining as I whispered, “it’s okay to die.”
And in a moment it was done.
The ashes gone, a new body appeared.
It was mine.
The world will celebrate the Joker’s death.
Who am I