The Cult of Harley Quinn

She remembered where she was when she got the invitation. She'd been at her desk at Gotham Savings & Loan. Not in a branch office. She was on the 42nd floor of the C building with a view of the park. Dan Rivers, who'd been essentially her mentor, had told her over drinks at the Cuttey Lounge that she was the youngest executive in the bank's history. Afterwards they'd gone to his secret flat in the narrows and she'd put on the black and red latex catsuit he was so fond of, and put those pole dancing classes to good use in his Kennedy room. Twenty-seven with a view of the triumphal arch at the heart of Robinson Park. Things like that weren't free, and merit wasn't enough, not if you had breasts and skin the colour of cafe au lait.

The invitation had been in a nondescript FedEx package. The purple envelope inside had "Alejandra Corazon" scrawled across the face in gold calligraphy that began beautifully but became increasingly inexpert and disjointed until the last few letters of her surname were all but illegible. The j in Alejandra was dotted with a little heart. Her grin spread from ear to ear as she tore the envelope open with trembling fingers.

A thick card, obviously custom ordered from a stationer's shop, was nestled in the green lining. The disturbed hand that had struggled to write her last name was at work, and the expensive card was littered with inkblots and smudges. She devoured the few words written there. Her heart felt light as if she were falling, weightless, into the abyssal trench of an ocean after the water had drained away. Walking down the foetid alley on the dockside of the narrows she could only remember scraps of it now; Cordially invited... try out for the role... Harley Quinn.

Harley had died or vanished or gone catatonic (theories abounded) a few years ago and since then the Joker had been holding tryouts for the new Harley Quinn. The police and mayor's office had called it, variously, serial murder, spree killing, human trafficking, kidnapping and more. The networks had used terms like "cult", "brainwashing", and "death sport". They'd interviewed celebrity quack psychologists in power suits who'd droned on about self abnegation, co-dependency, operant conditioning, and the psychoanalytic origins of thanatos. A pretty blonde with a mouth like a cherry had looked straight into the camera and said; "if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

Alejandra, Ale to her friends, had wanted to kill that beautiful blonde psychiatrist. Not because she disagreed with what she had said. She just wanted to watch her die, and to feel the slickness of her wet blood between her fingers. She knew what it was that was in the envelope. She'd read, with rapturous attention, the newspaper articles and social media posts about the robberies and killings. They'd all been like the bank robbery that the Joker had first announced himself with. The crews were always beautiful young women in skintight combat suits and as the heist went on they would kill each other off until only one remained.

Sometimes that last one didn't get away. Sometimes the last two killed each other. Sometimes the pigs got her, or even, once, she'd offed herself. On a few occasions the last survivor had subsequently shown up at another of these capers. Twice she'd been one of the ones to die. Ale knew what was happening. Joker was choosing his next Harley Quinn and the girl had to prove herself. It was right that she should have to do so. The love of the Joker was something a girl should have to fight for, to kill for, and if necessary to die for.

She shivered, or quivered, as she reached the door. The faded green pain was scuffed in places revealing the grim steel beneath. A purple bow was crudely painted on it so that the door vaguely resembled a wrapped present. As she raised her trembling hand to knock she thought; "I want the Joker to watch me die."

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I thought I'd do my own take on Harley Quinn. OF COURSE it had to be a deathsport / suicide cult. All images and videos on the MEGA for your pleasure.

Let me know what you think of my creating videos based on my content. If you lot like it I'll keep doing it. If you don't care I'll probably stop. Kisses!

-Eva