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Angry Elton flapped his arms, and reminded Brian of a large ugly chicken. Brian had had a long and tiring week, and didn't need this now, so soon after... The memory of...that...rose quickly from his subconcious, and he bravely battered it back down into the dark recesses of his mind. 'I dont need this!' shouted the chicken. 'I'm constantly surrounded by assholes! Damned novices everywhere I look!' I know what you mean, thought Brian. The thing in his head began to rise again, and the voice of the Angry Elton faded away. Brian tried hard to stop himself, but howver hard he tried the memory kept on coming.... ...the dress was blue, and her short blonde hair caught the sunlight streaming through the rolled down window of the car...she laughed, and her nose wrinkled just that way that made him want her. He changed up into third, and pressed the accellerator quickly, and she laughed again. He liked her to laugh, he liked the way she looked, he liked.... '...and i distinctly remember asking for fresh flowers, not these rancid daisies you left in my dressing room! You. Hey! Are you listening to me?' Brian's memory faded, and he had a sudden urge to thank Angry Elton for dragging him back to the present, but as he realised the chicken was shouting at him that urge vanished. Mr Elton, he began (glad he didnt say Mr Chicken), I picked up those 'rancid daises' myself from the florists this morning... ...the morning. It was the morning when... some children were crossing the road ahead and he braked. From the corner of his eye he saw how the seatbelt cupped her breast and wrinkled the dress at the side. Half an hour previously, he had cupped that same breast and wrinkled the sheets that draped over their bodies. He slowed to a halt, and the shouts and laughter of the children in some way echoed the thoughts in his heart. He felt free, and good, and life was a groovy thing that had chosen that moment to reveal itself to him Brian realised everyone had become silent, and a few of the make up girls were looking at him with mouths wide open. Angry Elton had turned an interesting shade of purple, and looked as though he was about to explode. Brian wondered what he had said, and the brief thought of getting fired flashed across his mind. Mr Elton, I'm...said Brian, but it was obviously too late as the angry chicken launched into a barrage of obscenity that wouldnt have been out of place in a sunday league football match. Brian took two steps forward, and grabbed the chicken by the throat and said "look you little fucking prick... ...as he carried on through the streets, she put her hand on his knee and said what he had been thinking about for weeks. His heart leapt, and he wanted to jump out of the seat and kiss her and hold her and make love to her there and then, and she smiled at his reaction and that made him even happier, and as he was loving the little wrinkles on her nose The chicken was sitting on the floor clutching his face. Blood gushed from the gaps between his fingers, and the front of his shiny yellow shirt was already turning an unflattering shade of brown. 'Nyoo nit ne?' said Not Quite As Angry Now Elton. 'Nyoo nyuckin nit ne? nyoo nyastard, ni'll nake mnure nyoo nyever nerk' he heard the shriek and saw the horror in her eyes, and felt the impact of the car and the noise of the metal crumpling before him and he turned his head in time to see the Transit van in front of him and the scaffolding poles tied to the top and dangling from the end of the poles was a dirty yellow rag that was racing towards him and at the last moment it seemed to zoom out of focus to become a yellow blur that shot through the windscreen with a noise like a bullet and he watched as it came into his car like an angry bird and flapped its way into his life, into his girl, into his memory to be forever imprinted on his mind the moment when... |
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Upsideclone is now shuttered and no longer taking submissions. Upsideclown is an evil cartel of seven who only write in a certain style on certain days of the week, and refuse to expand. Fah, say we! Upsideclone (this site, incase you hadn't noticed) serves to subvert the name of clown and to bring others into the fold. If you've read Upsideclown and old articles here, you get the idea. Submissions are always welcome: We operate a strictly hands-off editorial approach (we won't even correct your spelling). Once submitted, your article goes to the vote by the seven clowns. A majority, and you're in the queue for Friday publications. Go on -- submissions@upsideclone.com. And if you want to know more, hints or clarifications: come ask us in talk. |
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Clare Maguire > 6dec2002 > The Face of The Future |
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