by Unknown
Her mind was soaring, glowing. Her lips stretched in a wide smile, and she could see the candyman smiling back.
“That’s what I like to see,” he said as he stood at that table, his hands closing the jar of Rainbow Swirls. “Happy.”
Sandy began to laugh hysterically as she lifted her hands over her head. Frantic, she looked left and right. Those dull, eroded walls were suddenly so bright and colorful, swirling with electric lights. The checkered floor danced with light, moving under those swinging blue lights.
She had to get out of there. The joy was too great, too powerful to be caged within that miniature shop. Running towards the front door, she could hear the candyman laughing with her, enjoying her exhilaration. Soon, he and his shop were far behind as Sandy sprinted, disappearing into the dark, lost in the labyrinth of alleys, the night sky. Everything was alive, pulsing with light and brilliant hues. She could see the zombified junkies, crawling from their cardboard tombs, crying, laughing, dying, folding in and out with the physical world around them, inseparable from the underworld of Clownopolis that held them captive.
Everywhere she looked, everywhere she turned, colors swarmed from red to violet to white, spectrums opened around her. Floor, walls, skies, clowns, air. Nothing was free from the interconnected fever of expendable flavor.
Candy. The entire world was candy.
How could she ever live without it all? Those flavors, those textures, sights and sounds molded in tastes and pleasures beyond conception. Chemicals only produced artificial mockeries of an experience she had craved from that world that had been around her, hiding in plain sight the entire time. She could see that now. Everything was so sweet, so tasty.
Sandy knocked over an approaching clown as he sauntered through the alleyway. A sot, stinking of rum, his bloodshot eyes wanting sweetness as well. He cowered at the sight of Sandy on top of him, though, shaking him wildly like a madwoman, sniffing him with her well-worn red nose. Cowered, and yet his eyes showed intrigue, fascination. He knew she was on an ultimate, a high peak, and he wanted to know what it was like as well.
Slobbering, mad, and energized, Sandy leaped off of the drunkard clown, and ran again. Further through the labyrinth, the maze of alleys that seemed endless, impossible. Sandy didn’t even attempt to follow a logical path from where she had come, not at all concerned with where she was going.
There was no need to go anywhere. Candy was all there, spinning, rippling, swirling, encompassing all existence. Sandy pressed her torso against the wall, licking the substance with intrigue. How it buzzed, so warm against her wet taste buds. Her pressing tongue could feel the saturation pouring down her throat, swarming her stomach as it filled to the brim, never satisfied, unable to stop. This was the highest she had ever gone, and yet it only propelled her to go higher, higher, rising endlessly like a hot weather balloon.
She could never stop rising. Sandy tasted the asphalt, the scattered lampposts, discarded signs and debris, sewage and old banana peels. All so tasty, so rewarding. Clowns were tasty too, those lost junkies that didn’t even seem to care anymore, lost to an inferior candy. If only they were wise enough to know where the true candy lay, then they could live in prosperity forever, pleasures always filled and rewarded, enjoyed to eternity. Now, they hardly screamed and cried when bitten, when their blood poured and guts hung, when organs were devoured, offering little more than weak, spaced out whimpers and cries of “Please, please, no, no...”
Seas of junkies. Seas of horrid addicts that hadn’t evolved with this new craze. No, Sandy had never seen such brilliance until tonight, had never known the world to be made of rainbows. Blood tasted of rainbows, and eyes, and flesh too. Bodies broke apart to reveal high calibre substances. Living meat became tastier, sweeter with each bite. She couldn’t stop eating, her face and hands covered in sanguine stickiness, vibrating from red to orange to green onwards, never stopping. Fingers pried bone, hands snapped flesh, the weak protested softly, dying.
Munching away, flicking through delicate tissue, Sandy turned to see other enlivened abusers, snacking away at vulnerable addicts. Yes, they could see the rainbows too, could taste them, swirling down their throats, saturating their tummies. Blood and gore stained the ground now, trashed skeletons smashed and ignored as pecks of brain matter and mucus slime dripped from their hardened shells. Meat filled the alleys with their pleasant, drenching taste.
Spectrums continued to race by her, colors conjoined, unending. Despite the ampleness of plenty, Sandy the Clown could only continue to devour, hearing her new comrades munching away beside her.
***
“And when do you think it will become big enough of a problem to address with a public announcement?”
Kommander Klovnen sighed as he looked up at Kaptain Joey, his sagging, tired eyes still droopy under that black eye makeup. “When it warrants attention from the masses. For now, its a slum problem.”
Kaptain Joey shook his white, pitiful head as his red scowl looked sadder, less menancing. “For Clown’s sakes, Kommander. They’re ripping clown’s faces off, chewing up their bodies, slaughtering other addicts...”
“We already have problems policing the common candy peddling in commercial areas. If we let loose with information about a stronger, newer candy on the street that’s turning clowns into cannibals, we’re in trouble.”
“So, we wait until these damned addicts make their ways out of the alleys?”
“We’ll handle it before then. We’ve only gotten reports for three days. We can squash it before then.”
“Until some lady in a park downtown has her face ripped off. Then who’ll be to blame?”
The kommander stood up, irritated. “We’ve handled worse in the past. And we never had to send the city to a state of panic to solve problems, either.”
“I’ll follow your judgment, Kommander.”
“And don’t step out of line again.”
The kaptain nodded nervously before walking out the door, his tall helmet shiny, his blue uniform patched with happy faces and ice cream cones.
Once alone, Kommander Klovnen pulled his helmet off, pulling out a long, multi-colored handkerchief to wipe above his forehead, just above the greasepaint. This case was getting difficult. Before, candy wasn’t too hard to control and patrol, their forces mainly concerned with keeping the drug from slipping into the noticeable spotlight of the normal populace. Down in the gutters, with the sewer stooges and forgettable fools high out of their minds on candy, rotting away in the hidden clown alleys, no one cared about them. The Kommander could have let them die for all he cared.
But this new form of candy was dangerous. The reports of cannibalism and attacks were small and new for now, but in the past few days, these freak accidents in the shadows weren’t showing any signs of ceasing. If the problem slipped any further than the abandoned alleyways of the slums, Clownopolis would be in grave trouble.
***
After a few days of investigations and interrogations, the kops acted quickly, entering the backstreets of Clownopolis.
Squadrons upon squadrons entered the alleyways, armed in paramilitary suits. They couldn’t handle such horrid affairs the old fashioned way with comical boppings and clobberings to noggins from blackjacks. This new breed of addict would have to be killed quickly with deadly firepower, and the supplier found as fast as possible.
Inspecting those alleyways, the kops found violent surprises awaiting them. Crazed clown addicts munched on troubadour cadavers and hobo flesh, horns honking beneath their careless feet. Snarling and still hungry, they leaped upon intruding kops, killing their nearest victims before getting mowed down by bullets.
Kops moved through the alleys by the dozens, finding more of those hooked bastards and floozies, lost to the sway of a new sweet. Taking no chances, they killed all of the addicted monsters they could find, sloppily painted faces hit with ammo, bodies rattled with shots.
Based on their interrogations in bars outside of the slums, the kops
were convinced that a former doctor, Mr. Don Dapper, had started to sell around those parts for nearly a year. They were also convinced that he was the creator of this new batch of candy, a sweet so strong it turned its consumers into horrid beasts that fed upon other clowns.
Perhaps Don was behind the fiasco. When they did find a shop deep in Clown Alley 5, filled to the brim with an assortment of candies beyond the likes that the kops had ever seen, the place had been abandoned. The kops took the drugs and packaged them, wheeling them off in wagons toward the station for analysis.
One of those interesting candy products matched the strands of drugs found in the systems of dead clown cannibals, an interesting collection of rocks and liquids that looked like rainbow swirls. The kops kept some of the drugs in storage for data and scientific research, disposing of the rest of the gatherings. If they could find the manufacturers of the destructive filth, then they were convinced that they could stop its spread throughout the entire city.
All addicts had been purged from the backstreets, both cannibals and hopeless, anemic candy fiends shot on sight. The kops couldn’t take any chances and didn’t waste time discerning the new deadly addicts from the run of the mill sweets junkies. Kops also patrolled the commercial areas and the more affluent parts of town, making sure none of the new candy menaces had made their way into safer sections of Clownopolis. Streetwalkers, hobos, and tramps were harassed throughout the city, forced to give up any information that could lead to further clues of any candy distributors and users. Many run of the mill peddlers were locked up, but no one seemed knowledgeable about that innovative rainbow treat that had hit the backstreets nearly a week ago.
After an extra week of scouring through the gigantic, intricate city, the kops finally located their main suspect, Dapper Dan. Cuffed and photographed, the doctor looked like a blob in connections to the old photos they had of him, a respectable, thin clown doctor with a charming smile. Now, he was fat, wild eyed, and immensely frightening, though there had always seemed a small hint of mania in his eyes. At least, that’s what many former patients said.
Upon questioning, the doctor merely laughed uncontrollably. They asked him if there was any more of that rainbow candy on the streets, if he had any accomplishes, any connects, any help outside of Clownopolis, even hook-ups from the human world. The doctor gave the kops nothing. Laughing and laughing, he merely tortured them with his own private sense of humor, jokes they were denied to know.
And uptown, five blocks from the nearest kop station, an old clownette wobbled to a bus stop on her cane, painted face shadowed by a floppy hat adorned with daisies. She had hardly sat down on the nearest bench before her lips were sent to wailing, a crazed clown munching happily upon her face.
IRL
Tristann Jones
Amelia knew she shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to. And with just a nudge from Benson, she caved.
They’d already been drinking for most of the evening. His mother bought them a case of piss-water that she called beer, and between the two of them, they’d done some serious damage to it. She loved spending breaks from college at Benson’s house.
Amelia didn’t know it at the time, but her next move would alter the course of their evening, and in turn, her life, forever. She downed the open can of beer, crushed it, and tossed it into the trash bin across the room. And then she went for it, throwing herself onto Benson’s lap.
His beer fell from his hand and splashed into the already stained carpet as she pressed her face into his. Lips mushing. Bodies touching. She pulled back long enough to lift her shirt and bra over her head and take another deep breath before pushing back into him. Her clothes fell onto the wet carpet, but they didn’t notice. Had they evaporated into thin air, they still wouldn’t have noticed.
Amelia’s inhibitions were gone as she tugged at Benson’s belt, desperate to remove his pants and release what she needed. He didn’t even get his pants down past his knees before Amelia climbed onto him, skirt hiked up, panties pulled to the side. She couldn’t wait any longer to feel him inside her.But it only took a few moments before the heat and the motions got to her, and her head was pounding. In the most seductive voice she could muster in the moment, she whispered for him to get on top, and he obliged.
She’d never felt more relaxed as her back hit the bed, and her head fell into the pillow. Benson spread her legs and thrust into her. Amelia gasped as he filled her, and her hands instinctively went up to his back to pull him in deeper. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was him, but each plunge made her body shiver.
Benson must have felt the same way, because within a few minutes, it was all over, and they were lying next to each other on the bed panting. The room was so hot that he finally crawled across her to open the window next to the bed. As the cold air rushed into the room and washed over her body, Amelia knew she was going to be sick. She threw on his T-shirt and rushed to the bathroom, hoping his sister wouldn’t catch her as she dashed around the corner.
She plopped down on the bathroom floor, something she never would have done under any other circumstance, opened the lid, and closed her eyes, trying not to see the filth in the corners of the room. She hated staying at Benson’s house, but they certainly couldn’t get away with this much fun when they stayed with her parents. False alarm.
When Amelia realized nothing was going to come up, she quickly stood up to wipe the floor filth off her rear. She hurried back to the bedroom and dropped onto the cool sheets before she even realized Benson wasn’t in the bed anymore.
He was hovering in the doorway to his closet, fiddling with something. “I made this the other day. It’s fucking amazing. And it will make your head feel better.”
She leaned up on her elbow to get a better look. He was packing a hefty amount of weed into the top of a two-liter bottle, which had the bottom cut off and was in a large bucket of water. “I named it Geronimo. It’s epic. Just stay there. I’ll help you out.”
He lit the bowl, and slowly pulled the bottle up as it filled with smoke. She could hardly see through the bottle anymore, the smoke was so thick. It was impressive, and kind of terrifying, as she watched him hit it and inhale almost all of the smoke. Damn, he’s got some lung capacity.
Benson rushed up to her, knelt down, and kissed her deeply. She didn’t even really realize he was blowing the smoke into her mouth until she felt like she was suffocating. The coughing began. Deep, hard hacks as she tried to get clean air. But the room was filled with haze now too, and she just kept coughing. He blew the rest out the window, and flopped down next to her on the bed and began to rub her back. After a few minutes, she could breathe again.
“Let’s do one more. It’ll help you sleep.” He repeated the process, but Amelia was ready this time. She managed to take almost all of it without coughing, held it, and then slowly blew it out the window. She was exhausted. But sleep wasn’t in the cards for her, not tonight.
Amelia knew immediately that the second hit had been a mistake. The first hit was a mistake. But that’s the problem with drinking and smoking, once it’s in your system, it’s in your system. I’ll just ride it out.
Then, the drooling began. Amelia didn’t like how her tongue felt in her mouth. It was too wet, too slimy. She kept dragging her tongue against her top teeth, extracting all the saliva, and letting it roll down her chin. Of course, Benson noticed. She was making mouth noises loud enough to rival his dog. He told her to stop. He wiped her chin. And then he’d just wipe it again. She hated how her tongue felt. She had to do something about it. But a sneeze, mid-tongue rub, caused her to bite herself. The warm taste of blood spread across her tongue and brought her back to her senses.
“Oh my god, honey. You won’t believe what just happened. Did you see that? I just couldn’t stop drooling. It felt so weird. I kept telling myself to calm down, but I couldn’t.”
“Yeah, babe. I saw. You were freaking me out. Are you okay now?”
“I think so. How long until
this high wears off? I don’t like it.”
“Let’s watch a movie. You can just relax. By the time the movie is over, you’ll be all good.”
He picked Fight Club. Amelia wasn’t pleased. Even in her best mood, she would have been pissed about his choice. After a year together, he should know better by now. But tonight wasn’t her best mood. She counted the minutes. She tried to relax, but she just wanted her skin to stop crawling. Time wasn’t helping. She had to do something. She felt hot. Too hot.
Amelia jumped up from the bed and stripped down to nothing before Benson could even blink. He liked where this was going, or where he thought it was going. But Amelia made a dash for the bedroom door.
“What are you doing? My sister is watching TV in the living room. You can’t go out there naked!”
“I have to go outside. It’s too hot in here. I feel like I’m being burnt alive.”
“Fine. Fine. But please put clothes on.” He managed to get her to step into a pair of his basketball shorts, and he pulled his Metallica t-shirt over her head. And then she was off, out of the bedroom, and out of the house while he was still pulling his shorts up. He chased after her, ignoring his sister’s questions, and found Amelia standing in the street in front of the house, looking up at the stars.
In addition to the debauchery ignored by Benson’s parents, she liked his house because it was out in the woods. No light pollution; you could really see the stars. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the driveway just as a pickup truck was ascending the curved hill right next to the house. They honked as they sped past, lucky to have avoided her.
“Your room was too hot, your house too small. I need to breathe.”
“Honey, it’s freezing out here. And you really scared my sister. Can we please go inside?”