Doctor Who Internet Adventure #22 - "Clockwork Orange"

by Richard Prekodravac


Two Conversations. Two Rooms.

* * *

There's a cop, LAPD rookie. He's clean cut with a clean shaven face. His file says he was at the top of the academy. He's the all American that every father and mother hopes to create. He was any eagle-eye patriotic cliche you could think of because he was it. But you had to remember that the American Pie didn't matter as long as you remembered LAPD.

       Young woman looks old. Prostitute. Long legs that go far and you can see exactly where. Her face looks like it was carved out from the coke habit she slept for. And she had a red mark across her face and lipstick smeared from it to her lips.

       The conversation went something like this:

       The LAPD rookie fired out a long list with words like:

       Who and where and what with; with phrases like:

       You don't think you're going to get off the streets; with actions like:

       And a hand down a blouse

       The prostitute was defensive most of the way through: what's it to you, or I don't have to answer that.

       And was sure about it because she had been in the situation before.

       "I don't have to do anything".

       And she was sure with the things she had to say "What can I do for you?"

       And she was sure with the things she had to do.

       Hand on a soft crotch.

       Conversation probably goes on for hours. LAPD is not interested. All-American is a fudge fucker and given one little push he could have been her pimp. She gets dumped in a cell overnight, so that tomorrow night the conversation can go around in circles again.

       LAPD is trying to listen in on next door.

* * *

LAPD 44 white male carved from stone. Father of two All-American boys.

       One's a fruit. Wife's eye is reminded every night for being too soft.

       LAPD 44 white male carved from stone is having his own kind of conversation in the room next door.

       Male 26. Queer. Fruit. Fudge Fucker. Caught in a toilet block. Says he has a friend who is a cop. LAPD 44 doesn't hear the shit. He thinks of the thing his wife ruined.

       The conversation went something like this:

       Fist carved from stone.

       Conversation is short and direct. The non-verbal type of conversations gets better results. Especially for the LAPD.

* * *

Two Conversations. Two Rooms.

       There's also a third kind of conversation.

       Those who know about it call it CLOCKWORK.

       Male. Female. Kid. They get brought up taken into the third room and it works out they never existed in the first place. Hard place. Dark place.

       Life's better if you try to forget. If you survived.

       I survived but only because I was never taken in, this is not my story.

       I'm telling the story of the one man who did survive. Who escaped and survived for 36 hours before being swallowed back in. I'm trying to remember for him. What he said had happened.

       This is LA, 1958. You can do anything you wanted to if you got away with it. Sleep around, take drugs, gamble, kill, even little boys if that's what you did.

       For those with power and who were corrupt enough they liked to play CLOCKWORK.

To be continued...

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