 |
   |
|
|
Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. I was awoken from my slumber by the incessant brain-drilling sound of my alarm clock. I had selected it for its ability to annoy me - anything less and I wouldn't be properly awoken. It had successfully made me blearily awake. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. I rolled over, reaching for the clock to shut it up, my eyes still stuck closed against the unwanted daylight. Be-be-be-beep. The swipe of my arm missed the clock, somehow. Missed the table on which the clock lay. I figured I must be far enough across the bed, or I would have hit the edge of the bed, which was also missed. Be-be-be-beep. I swiped again, fruitlessly, before I remembered, as I always remembered at this point, that that hand had been amputated long since. A minor accident, shutting it in a door, but it had become horribly infected and had to be removed to save my life. I remembered the greenish goo that had filled it, and shuddered, as I turned back over to reach for the clock with my other hand. Be-be-be-beep. And, as always, I remembered I lacked that hand too. That one I'd lost to a more freakish accident; a shattering bandsaw's flying blade had shot straight through, cut between the bones, through the tendons. I remembered the sound of the hand hitting the floor, the moment of incomprehension. The others had started panicking before I had even realised it was mine. Be-be-be-beep. I tried to catch the clock switch with my wrist-stump, but alas, even that was lost to me. The hasty bandaging of my workmates had, at first, involved a foul oily rag, and again infection had set in. That arm was gone to the shoulder. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. I opened my eyes, squinting at first against the daylight. But it was dark. Be-be-be-beep. I was blind. Be-be-be-beep. I had no eyes. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. I couldn't even remember the last time I had had eyes. Couldn't remember what had happened to them. I remembered, though, that my legs had gone missing one night, while I was asleep. At least, I think that's what had happened. Just gone. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. Be-be-be-beep. I must have still had ears, though, or I wouldn't have heard the alarm. And with that, it stopped. |
|
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. |
|
Clare Maguire > 6dec2002 > The Face of The Future |
|
You can sign up to receive articles by email. Simple send the word subscribe in the body of an email to upsideclone-request@historicalfact.com. To leave send the word unsubscribe, but why would you ever want to? |
|
Catch us at Upsideclown, homepages of authors are hyperlinked above, or directly at it@upsideclone.com. |