The Clegg Monster 21 February, 2011 at 12:00 pm
Following on from the last Clegg and Cameron story, I had to choose one of the characters, and write first person, given a specific event which will soon become very clear. I have a nasty habit of writing a story, then for one reason or another, it totally changes direction. As usual it’s from light-hearted world domination to sinister. All events are purely fictional and bare no relation to anything real, it’s just a bit of fun.
I got back from school, and the moment I opened the door there was a wrongness. Then there was a thud. I rushed through the house and a man was lying on the floor, his eyes were directed straight at me and it seemed like a candle inside him went out. Blood was pouring out of his head and soaking into the carpet.
I looked up to the man towering above him, all I saw was a monster. A drop of blood caught my eye as it fell towards the floor from the lamp still in the creatures hand. I could see his veins pumping, and his teeth were gritted in a face framed with anger. I don’t know how long we stood there, me starring at the monster, the monster starring at the corpse, and the corpse starring at me.
The monster broke the stand off, raising his gaze to meet mine. The moment he moved, my legs refused to work. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t even breath.
When his eyes met mine was the point I recognised him, or rather, who was hidden inside somewhere.
“Daddy?” I let out meekly.
“I had to. I had to. It was his own fault! He ruined my career! Did you see it? That STUPID speech he made me read!”
My stomach dropped. It felt like my entire insides had dropped. It felt like I had dropped. All the way to hell. And from this hell there would surely be no return.
I’m not sure why, but I couldn’t stop the words escaping from my mouth.
“I wrote that speech and replaced it in your red box”
He waddled over to me, his face still crazed, I searched desperately for my father in his eyes, but found nothing.
He raised the lamp above his head.
I turned away, I still couldn’t run, but I found I had tears streaming down my cheeks.
There was a thud.
I turned back, and my father had returned and was on his knees in front of me.
“What have I done?” was all he said, and then grabbed me and held me tight in desperation.
When he released me and looked into my eyes it seemed like a thought struck him.
“You wrote ‘Cleggieweggie smells like eggieweggie’?”
“No” I was confused for a moment before I figured it out, “That scheming evil little Arthur Cameron…”
I ran out of the room muttering in anger at what the little upstart did to my dad, behind me my father was screaming out for me to stop, but it didn’t register. A red haze had descended.
What more can I say? Like father, like son.
