Fan Fiction – "A Clockwork Orange"
Based on both the novel by Anthony Burgess and (mostly) the film adaptation by Stanley Kubrick. I do not own the rights to both works, nor the characters or the actors, except for "Peggy".
This is my first fan fiction since my interest in "A Clockwork Orange" got renewed this Spring. I'm glad to see there are others who love the film, and the characters, and wrote their own fictional accounts. Particularly with charming bad-boy Alex having love interests, and having the opportunity to change from being bad.
I will write a few stories I have (and had) in mind. I hope you enjoy them. But, please, no flames. After all, these are just fictional stories of whatever subject we like. These are just for our personal enjoyment.
PLOT: Hoodlum Alex Delarge is arrested after being spotted on a street corner rifling through a woman's handbag in his possession. But is he really the culprit? There are surprises aplenty in this humorous short story that takes place for an entire day.
"The Purse Snatching"
On a fine afternoon, diabolic hoodlum Alex Delarge, who goes by his familiar moniker 'Little Alex', is standing alone on a London street corner, near a 'Stop Ahead' sign. Dressed in his familiar gang member outfit (white shirt and pants, black boots, bowler hat, and, of course, the eyelash), he's carefully rifling through a woman's pocketbook. The knuckles on his right hand, however, appear to be bruised, as from (of course) a fight. He is so preoccupied in the pocketbook's contents that he doesn't notice some passersby avoiding him as they hasten to the opposite side of the street. From their fearful action, it is clear they know who he is. He glances up, and notices a frightened passerby. He smirks at the person; then returns his attention to the pocketbook.
Alex now crouches as he gradually takes out several items from the pocketbook: crumpled paper; an address book; lipstick; folded sheets of paper. He temporarily rests these on the ground.
"Bezoomney! Are these bleedin' items necessary?", he mutters in disgust at the unnecessary items he's been pulling out of the bag.
Then, something of interest catches his brilliant blue eye(s). Alex pulls out a pack of Kleenex tissues. He instantly pulls out two Kleenex, and starts to clean the bruise on his right knuckles. Finished, he tosses aside the blood-stained Kleenex, and comes across a Band-Aid. He takes it out, and, keeping the pocketbook under his arm, he tears open the bandage, removes the two ends, and carefully places the bandage on the bruised area of his knuckles. He smirks in satisfaction.
Not content that he took care of his bruise, Alex continues to rifle through the pocketbook. He sees a long change purse. He opens it, and pulls out several bills – about $50.00 (or 50 pounds, rather, since the setting is London). His eyes glimmer at the bills. He restores the bills back in the purse, however, for some strange reason.
Finally, he comes across a picture in the pocketbook. Alex fixes his gaze on the photograph as he pulls it out. It is a picture of a pretty blonde devotchka with long hair seated at her vanity, and dressed in a black slip. Her long, stockinged legs are crossed. The black stockings are up to her thighs. Her bosom is covered, yet she is braless – her cleavage is ripe and full. She is seated between her vanity on the right, and a pretty frilly, yet smaller, table, on the left. She smiles in the picture, looking winsome, yet seductive at the same time.
Alex studies the photograph with the attractive devotchka. He gives his familiar twisted smile as he utters a knowing chuckle to himself. Four words are already in his dark, twisted mind. Four familiar words, often uttered twice to make his sick point known, what he desires: 'the old in-out, in-out…'
"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, YOU ROTTEN LITTLE BASTARD!", an angry male voice orders out of nowhere.
Alex, coming out of his reverie, looks up. It is three policemen. They are poised with their guns drawn at him. He turns on the charm, and smiles, his blue eyes glinting.
"Hi-hi-hi, there, Officers!", he greets them. "I portend is there trouble somewhere?", he asks.
"Put the purse on the ground, and put your hands up! Now!", Officer 1 orders him.
"Righty-right!", Alex playfully responds.
He begins to pocket the photograph in his shirt pocket.
"Put that picture down, stand up, and move away from the purse!", Officer 2 orders him.
Alex now refuses.
"The picture's me own!", he insists.
"Put it down, and move away from the purse!", Officer 2 shouts.
Alex now rises to his feet, and moves away from the pocketbook. Yet he continues to resist giving up the photo.
"Sirs, Please! The photo is mine!", he insists, again.
The Officers charge at him. A third Officer comes forward and takes up the pocketbook, and Alex's cane. Officers 1 and 2 seize Alex, and put the handcuffs on him. Alex isn't bothered by this. But, strangely, he's very concerned about the photograph that Officer #3 now snatches out of Alex's shirt pocket.
"The bloody photo came from the purse you snatched! So it couldn't damn well be yours!", Officer #3 retorts. "Off to the Station! Move on!"
"Very well, then", Alex replies as he calmly relents. He does throw a concerned glance at the photograph in Officer #3's grip.