The Joker’s Ledger

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Summary

Title: The Joker’s Ledger: Buckles and Rhymes Author: Fatehhyyy Genre: Psychological Drama / Contemporary Fiction Logline: In a home built on "love" but ruled by a buckle, seventeen-year-old Fatehhyyy must navigate the crushing weight of his father’s contempt, the ghosts of four failed romances, and a world that only sees him as a punchline. Synopsis: Fatehhyyy is a "Zombie" walking through a waking nightmare. At home, he is the "Handicapped Horse"—a son deemed a failed investment by a father who uses a belt buckle to silence dissent. At school, he is the "Class Joker," a master of masks who cracks jokes to hide the fact that his hands won't stop trembling. When his father seizes his only sanctuaries—the gym and his phone—Fatehhyyy is left alone with the "Architect" of his mind. During the silent hours of 2:00 AM to 4:00 AM, he reconstructs his life, rewriting his trauma into poetry. But as the "Moron" who lied about his past walks into the family restaurant, Fatehhyyy must decide: will he remain the invisible servant, or will he use his pen to finally break the cage?

Genre
Drama
Author
Fateh
Status
Ongoing
Chapters
9
Rating
n/a
Age Rating
16+

Chapter 1: The Anatomy of a Lame Horse

Title: The Joker’s Ledger: Buckles and Rhymes

Author: Fatehhyyy

Chapter 1: The Anatomy of a Lame Horse

The morning in my house doesn’t begin with the sun; it begins with a heavy, suffocating silence that feels like it’s trying to crush the breath out of my lungs. It was 12:00 PM when I finally opened my eyes, the light from the window mocking the darkness I felt inside. I hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty hours. Hunger is a luxury for those who feel they deserve to be fed. To me, a meal felt like a debt I couldn’t pay back to a father who viewed my existence as a bad investment.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling fan, listening to the muffled sounds from downstairs. Then I heard it—the voice of the man who had given me life but was now slowly taking it away.

“I’m not putting another penny into his tuition,” my father’s voice boomed, vibrating through the floorboards. “Why would I? You don’t invest money in a handicapped horse. Look at him. He’s a liability. He’s a zero. He sits in that room, he plays those games, he writes those useless rhymes. He’s broken.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. The word Handicapped settled into my bones like lead. I wasn’t a son. I was a “failed asset.” My mother’s soft pleading followed, her voice a fragile shield against his rage, but it was useless. The decision had been made. My future was being traded away for the sake of his ego.