a tale from england

My name is Dinkle Funass and the story I am about to tell you is not one told out of bitterness, although the events herein did radically change my life for the worse. At the beginning of all this I was a pre-med student, studying to become an urologist. I was attending West Minister University in northern England at the time and had just become engaged to a beautiful, young boy named Bobby Bradles. While at the time I considered myself a man, I soon discovered that I was nothing more than a young girl about to attend kindergarten for her first day of elementary school.

It was a bright Saturday morning, looked as if it was going to be one of those gorgeous days for the month of May. I was heading down to the local bakery to pick up some breakfast bread for my fiancée and me. While I was walking down the street, minding my own business mind you, this rat stops me to ask if I knew where the garbage dump was. He was about regular size for a rat, with a rather large belly, but it wasn’t the sight of him that caught me off guard, it was the fact that he was talking to me. I didn’t answer his questions pertaining to directions immediately and I instead threw my own inquiries back at him.

“Why the fuck are you talking you silly duck?” I questioned. He couldn’t explain to me how he had learned to art of language and told me to piss off. He said he’d figure out where the dump was for himself.

“This has the makings of an odd day” I thought to myself as I continued to make my way down the street. I had seen days like this before, and they never turned out well. A little further down the street I was stopped again.

This time a red mini-cooper pulls up next to me and to my surprise the car was packed full of clowns. There were six of them; one of the clowns was sitting on another’s lap in the back seat. The clown at the wheel rolled down his window and stuck his head out, but didn’t make his business immediately clear. What followed was a few seconds of awkward silence as this clown, as well as the rest of the ones in the car, continued to stare at me. The clown in the driver’s seat had a particularly peculiar air to him, with his pink afro-hair, white face-paint and unblinking eyes; he seemed to fit the description of a deranged lunatic. When I deemed this staring charade had gone on long enough, I decided to keep on walking. It proved to be a bad move.

Looking back at the situation, I should not have tried to walk away from the car, but should have ran. Running probably would not have even helped though; those clowns knew what they wanted. In a second the air was filled with the roar of a car engine harmonizing quite horribly with screeching tires as the mini-cooper jumped up on the sidewalk to cut me off. All four of the car’s doors opened simultaneously and the clowns began to get out. “Shit!” I whimpered under my breath as I turned to run. It was too late though; those clowns were on top of my white body faster than a cocaine addict can bump his own white fun. I started to scream for help, but the few people around were smart enough to not get involved in clown business. I was face down on the sidewalk, literally eating the cement with my bare teeth, when I was hit over the head with something hard. At least I imagine it was something hard because all of a sudden everything went black.

When I came to I was tied to a chair in the middle of a cold, dark room. The only light available to me came from a lamp hanging from the ceiling. The result was that I could only see about five feet in any direction that I tried to look. The air felt damp and heavy, I had the feeling that I was in a cellar of some sort. I tried to move the chair by jolting my body a few times, but it seemed as if the chair was bolted in place.

“Having fun, squirmer?” asked a creepily high-pitched voice from outside my radius of vision. “Why don’t you squeal a little for me?”

What the hell was going on? I searched the darkness frantically for the owner of the voice and increased my efforts to loosen myself from the chair’s seemingly glued position. I decided to quit the struggle and put my game face on.

“That’s more like it” the voice said from the dark. The clown that had been driving the mini-cooper walked into the light. He had a funny walk to him, with every other step he seemed to hop a little. “You might be wondering what you are doing here,” he said in that queer voice of his. “It has come to our attention that you have come into contact with a certain rat by the name of Radio Squad. Is this correct?”

“A rat asked me where the garbage dump was earlier, if that’s what you’re talking about,” I answered him.

“We killed your little boyfriend,” the clown informed me. He was smiling as he let this released information sink into my throbbing skull.

“What?” I asked in pure horror.

The clown retreated into the darkness and returned carrying Bobby’s limp carcass. He threw the deflated mass of what used to be my fiancée onto the floor in front of me. I stared into Bobby’s dead face and the reality of the situation washed over me like cold water from a river in hell. “Wha . . . wha . . . what the fuck! You sick bastard! What the fuck!” I was screaming wildly. I felt tears streaming down my face and a tempestuous rage began to boil inside of my chest. What kind of sick people would do this? And for what? “What the fuck is going on?” I screamed.

“We wanted you to understand the full magnitude of the current circumstances,” the clown told me. “We need to know everything that Radio Squad told you, starting from your first encounter,” said the clown.

“I just met him today,” I was basically sobbing now. “He just asked where the garbage dump was and then told me he could find it himself. That was the last I ever saw him.” I felt like an animal in a petting zoo. “You didn’t have to kill Bobby you sick fucks!” I spit out the last line.

The clown took a few steps towards me and leaned in close to my face, his breath reeked like garlic and rotten cabbage. I pushed my head back as far as I could and turned away, his rancid breath made me more nauseous than the corpse at my feet. His tongue crept out of his mouth like a red snake from a hole, and quite suddenly I felt his warm saliva on my cheek, the snake’s venomous bite. I began to puke uncontrollably. The clown continued to lick my face until I had completely cleared my stomach of all its bile, reducing my vomiting spasms to reflexive gags. He backed away from me and allowed a curious smile to play across his lips. “That’ll do pig” he said. With that he retreated into the darkness, leaving me covered in my own, disgusting vomit. He returned a few moments later holding a large, wooden bat. He walked back over to me, again prancing with that queer little hop/strut walk he did, and stopped about a bat’s length away from me. My eyes were level with his crotch. Suddenly he swung hard at the side of my head and once again I returned to a sea of pitch-black nothing.

I woke up on the same sidewalk I was kidnapped from. My head felt like a broken egg and I could barely see straight. It was night outside and I weakly brought myself to my feet. After wobbling on my flimsy legs for a few seconds, I collapsed, once again returning to the pavement. I spent the rest of the night lying there, crying with my head in my hands. “Why am I alive?” I kept asking myself over, and over, and over again.