The Joker’s Testimonies — Untitled Entry
Anon: Why don’t you stop them, Joker? You see it before it happens. You always do.
Joker: Because stopping them would mean pretending they don’t want this.
Everyone loves the fire so long as it’s warming their hands and burning someone else’s house. They only scream when the smoke stops being decorative. That’s when they look around for someone to blame — preferably someone who didn’t flinch.
They ask why I don’t intervene. I ask why they confuse restraint with weakness. I learned a long time ago: systems don’t collapse from enemies. They collapse from faith.
Faith that the rules apply evenly. Faith that authority is competence in a better outfit. Faith that if something is wrong, surely someone important will fix it.
I let them keep that faith. It weighs better in their pockets than truth ever did.
They call me immoral because I won’t save them from consequences they rehearsed in daylight. Because I don’t cry when the ledgers come due. Because I don’t rush to the rubble pretending this was unforeseeable.
Here’s the secret they hate most: I’m calm because chaos isn’t new. It’s familiar. It’s honest.
What terrifies people isn’t the collapse — it’s realizing no one was in charge when things were “working” either.
So I don’t burn the world. I watch it overheat on its own ambition and call it justice. I laugh when halos slip and leave scorch marks, when saints start bargaining, when leaders rediscover prayer like it’s an emergency exit they ignored for years.
I laugh because the curtain finally came down — and everyone’s shocked there was no script behind it.
You want to know why I don’t stop them?
Because the moment I do, they’ll call me responsible for the ashes. And I refuse to inherit a fire I didn’t light.