Our face is the mask to our soul. And the joker's face masks his soul.
Some wear a scowl. Some wear a poker face. Some look beweildered. And then there are those who wear smiles.Smiles are like human beings. The Mask like its owner. They can be genuine, fake, happy, sad, vengeful, benign and even pitiful. Yet these are the masks we wear everyday.
Then there are the jokers. Filling the lives of others with magic and wonderment, entertaining all those all around them, yet feeling empty within. Like the prophecy within the fortune cookie. Once released, the cookie becomes useless and usually abandoned.
And there is the Joker with his cheap smiles, strutting and fretting in the crowd he is in. Smiling and Joking, as he makes the day for others. But there is deep resentment within him, a loathing for crowd and noise. But nobody is aware, the mask overdoes its job, lulling the mob oblivious to the reality that lies within.
He makes his way through crowd, thinning them as he thread towards home, his abode of solitude, his bastion of fortitude. The smiles die, the weariness return. The weight drops off his shoulders as he slumps onto his couch. He closes his eyes and his head lightens.
Nobody knows what lies behind the mask of smiles, within his burdensome heart. That despite his glowing, cheerful demeanour lies the desperate desire to be left alone. And yet the night ends and the day begins.
And the joker leaves home, with cheap smiles to sell to the crowd that await his presence.
