What lies behind the make-up of a clown? Come in and find out.
By Stephen Abell
Number of words: 883
Where did it all begin for me? When did I realise my career?
Easy – my sixth birthday.
I remember it was a beautiful day in July. Blue sky, sun blazing, my friends and I stripped down to our bathing costumes and splashed madly in the paddling pool I’d been given by an Aunty.
It was a great day. I remember a cake designed as half a football with iced black & white patches over the surface. We all wore a shiny party hat and played games, like pass-the-parcel, where the winner of the game got a surprise present. Dad was too fair at that game, as I recall, and I didn’t win once – “Stevie,” he said, “all your friends bought you gifts. Wouldn’t it be a shame if they went home with nothing?” I was six and didn’t give a damn, I wanted to win something.
My “lucky” friends weren’t the only ones to get a surprise though, on that day, oh no.
The person, the thing, which changed my life forever, was the best surprise I could’ve hoped for.
A mad raucous cacophony sounded, loud and sharp in our ears, and we all spun around to see a clown blowing a trumpet that expelled confetti into the air. In his other hand was a balloon with “Happy Birthday” on it in bold print.
His hair was a blood red, as was the make up around his eyes and mouth. On the end of his nose was a yellow ping-pong ball with F-U printed on it. We thought it stood for “Uncle Freddy” but the clown was so silly he’d gotten the letters mixed up.
“Uncle Freddy is here to entertain the birthday boy.” He growled, coughed and spluttered. Finally, spitting out a black liquid slab of phlegm. We loved it and laughed our asses off. As he handed me the balloon he called for Robbie to go up on the stage and smell the flower in his lapel. We were laughing already since we knew that water from the flower would wet him through. Robbie’s scream created instant silence. He spun around and I saw flesh melting as the acid ate a way through his flesh to his skull.
Kids were screaming and starting to move in panic but Uncle Freddy was ready for that. Out of his oversized trousers he pulled a gun. With each explosion a kid fell to the ground. Parents came running from the house only to have a bullet take their lives. I saw the back of Dad’s head explode and smear over our dining-room window. I should have won a prise in pass-the-parcel; I smiled. Uncle Freddy saw me and copped a wink and it was then, at that precise moment, I saw my future.
Mum had made it to Uncle Freddy and had pushed a kitchen knife in his chest, even though he seemed to not notice it. With stunning grace and agility he pulled the line of handkerchiefs from his jacket pocket and spun it around her neck. As he pulled it tighter I could see him turning red under the white face-paint. She joined all my other party-goers on the floor.
“Now, birthday boy, this is what I call a party.” And as he laughed I saw that blood was starting to run from his mouth. He coughed violently and spat a clot straight into my face, and I could smell evil and death on the air.
Uncle Freddy picked up Mum and carried her dead body over to the food table where he ungraciously threw her down. He then positioned her so that he could have his own party. Pulling the knife from his chest he used it to cut her red dress free from her body and then her knickers and bra. I watched in awe as he removed his inflated penis from his baggy trousers, inserted it inside Mum and banged away to his hearts content, coughing and spitting every now and again.
I crawled under the table, not out of fear but curiosity, and looked up as the diseased and dying clown slammed all hell out of my dead mother’s pussy. And as I watched I felt the disease enter my body and work its way to my brain and my soul.
I crawled from my viewing point just in time as, with one last loud and violent cough, Uncle Freddy looked at me and growled in a near silent voice. “Son, I always wanted to die between the legs of a beautiful woman.” And as he winked at me he toppled backwards, the last of his life vacating his body. Unfortunately he kept hold of Mum and dragged her on top of him, still impaled on his dead cock. Now that must have made a great comedy Christmas card from the forensics squad that later turned up to clean up and take pictures.
And that, dear birthday boy, is why I’m here now at this wonderful party. Sorry that you didn’t get a better surprise then the rubber chicken down the throat but I don’t need an heir just yet; I have plenty of years left in me, I think.
Now which one was Mommy? Ah fuck it, let’s have a real party. I’ll fuck ‘em all.