Wild Card Wednesday!

Gabriel Reads is hosting a nifty weekly blogging event that seems like a lot fun.  He provides a literary question where fellow bloggers offer responses and have the opportunity showcase their creative talents. I do apologize if my write-up is a bit long.

This week's prompt: Choose one of your favorite characters and one of your least favorite characters. Now pretend they're going on a road trip. What's the destination and how do they interact?

I have decided to go with literary works that I have read in the last few months:

Favorite character: Alex (A Clockwork Orange)

Least favorite character: Quentin Compson (The Sound and the Fury)

Destination: Yoknapatawpha County (Mississippi)

Despite feeling reluctant of returning to a life of depravity, Alex eventually bows to peer-pressure and agrees to join his new droogs, Bully, Len and Rick to itty a malenky trip to the deep south of Mississippi for some horrorshow ultra-violence, drecrom eegras, crasting and the ol' in-out-in-out with some grahzy devotchkas (apparently these Southern belles are promiscuous). Arriving six weeks later by steamship, they are anxious for some serious ultra-violence. Alex and his droogs first crast a horse and buggy from a nearby farm and then itty yecktating throughout the dirt roads hooting and howling into the nochy. The millicents are understaffed and not very active in this part of the county. Alex and his droogs are are still dressed in the height of fashion (pair of black very tight tights with the old jelly mould, fitting on the crotch underneath the tights with different shapes) and go around ransacking various barn yards to milk cows for their vellocet moloko and synthemesc. Once they are sharpened for a bit of dirty twenty-to-one, they are ready for a nocky of ultra-violence.

"What's it going to be then, eh?"

They soon come across an old drunken farmer stumbling and singing a badiwad southern tune that makes no sense as he makes his way oddy knocky along an isolated stretch of road. Pulling up next to the starry man, they crark obscenities  at him such as as "trout" and "bratchny" but the pyahnitsa completely ignores them. Alex sits at the front of the buggy and holds onto the reigns as his three droogs maliciously jump on top of the old man and drag him to the ground. Alex looks on with uneasiness as they sabog him in the keeshkas and yarbles, fist his gulliver until he is unconscious and then proceed to crast him of the malenky cutter in his pockets. Regaining his composure, Alex starts up the horses and they leave the old man all krowwy by the side of the road. Soon, they come across a large plantation and glancing at the rusty mailbox, it reads "The Compsons" painted in a peeling red color. Alex decides that this place will be full of pretty polly and perhaps even some ptsisas for a horrorshow sod. 

Devising a similar strategy used back home, Alex will knock on the front door, pleading with whoever answers on the other side to open up, telling them that he desperately seeks assistance because one of his droogs has been badly injured in the middle of the road. The other two droogs will stand out of sight by the entrance waiting for the resident to open the door and then barge inside. Bully, being called Bully for his bolshy big neck and gromky goloss has been designated by Alex to "play dead" in the road as he makes his way up the long driveway to the front porch and knocks rapidly on the screen-door. Even though the door is shabby and would not take much force to bust down, Alex decides to still go along with the charade. Alex sloshies the footsteps in the hallway going clack clack clack clacky clack and once the inner door swings open, a baboochka Negress named Dilsey dressed in a grazzy nightgown stands before him in utter shock at the sight of him dressed in his anachronistic platties. Quickly putting on a gentleman's goloss, a very refined manner of speech, Alex says, "Pardon madam most sorry to disturb you but my friend and me were out for a walk, and my friend has taken bad all of a sudden with a very troublesome turn, and he is out there on the road dead and groaning. Would you have the goodness to let me use your telephone for an ambulance?" Dilsey just stands there in disbelief unable to comprehend a word Alex is saying and puts her rookers to her rot to prevent from creeching at the top of her lungs. Alex smecks malevolently and crashes through the door followed by his fellow droogs as they clop Dilsey to the floor. She chumbles with tears in her eyes, repeatedly making the sign of the cross as they tauntingly hover over her plott. The only vesch they can discern from her speech is, "You vilyuns!" Whut you do any of yo devilment fur?" The other two droogs Len and Rick begin to tolchock and pull the voloss of the baboochka until she is crying out in agony. Her night-gown is razrezed as they they drag her into the dining room and Bully follows with a bolshy smeck on his litso. A young negro named Lester is cowering in a corner, holding his knees and oscillating back and forth. They completely ignore him.

Suddenly, the patriarch of the family, Mr. Compson appears through the kitchen door with a shotgun and fires at Len and Rick only to miss and blast a hole through the wall behind them. Acting quickly, Bully charges Mr. Compson and tolchecks him over before the old man can get another shot off. The gun goes flying across the room to the foot of Alex who picks it up but skorry feels nauseous and must steady himself in one of the chairs at the bolshy dining table. His droogs look at him dubiously but shrug it off and proceed to quiet the screaming Dilsey by stuffing some of her razrezed clothing into her litso, tolchocking Mr. Compson until he is krovvy and eventually zasnooting. Bully and Len run bezoomny upstairs jumping up and down singing dirty slovos while Rick drags Dilsey into the kitchen for some sladky lubbilubbing. Distraught and still feeling ill, all Alex can do is sit holding his stomach in pain and stare fixedly at the young black boy terrified in the corner before passing out with his head on the the table.

Alex is awakened by the gromky sloshing of Bully of Len calling his name and howling slovos as they come down the stairs holding onto a pale baboochka with tears streaming down her face (Mrs. Compson) a pretty devotchka with firm groodies (Caddy), an autistic man-child holding his yarbles and drooling over himself (Benjy). Following slowly behind them is a silent and stoic young man mumbling to himself as he stares blankly into the abyss (Quentin). 'We was worried about you Alex,' said Bully. 'Rick here say we should let you sleep it off while we took care of the rest of em. Take a look at this slobbering veck!' He was filled with joy and made the old lip music and even Alex could not help but smeck.

'My appy polly loggies' Alex says, carefully. 'I had something of a pain in me gulliver so had to sit down for a while. It must have been the moloko.' Looking up slowly, he smots at Rick staring at him and sitting silently in the corner skillfully maneuvering a nozh between his fingers with a sneer of derision plastered on his litso. The young black boy is nowhere in sight. His throat dry, Alex asks Rick in a raspy voice, What happened to the malenky negro? A long pause and then Rick smecks and skazats, 'Don't worry little brother, all is well.' He motions towards the crowd of people in the middle of the room and Alex cannot help but notice how oblivious the young man looks, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening to his family. Mr. Compson is awake now but laying at the feet of his family holding his krovvy gulliver as Benjy huddles over him poking at his plott.

Poogly, the jaundice looking baboochka interrupted and said: "Damn you all! What is all of this? Who are you? How dare you enter my house without permission and hold us hostage. Wait until my Jason returns from town and finds you devils here!" Len laughed and shlagnicked her in the litso until her nose was flowing with krovvy. Outraged, the young ptitsa attempts to break free from Bully's firm grasp on her pletcho to engage in dratsing with Len for tolchocking her mother but it is all in vain. Still, the young man just stood next to his sister and refused to put up any sort of resistance. He was now looking up at the ceiling and chumbling incoherently. Rick got to his feet, smecked and then said to Bully and Len: "Leave the ptitsa. Take the lot out the back and have your way with them."

Mustering up all his energy, Alex says, "Wait. I'm still in charge here so you ain't going to be giving orders like that, Ricky boy. He struggles to get up and balances himself by holding onto the edge of the table. Pointing at the somnambulist young man, he says: Oi, who is that gloopy chelloveck?" The young ptitsa answers by saying, "That is my older brother Quentin. You better leave him alone you rotten scoundrel!" Finding his balance, Alex takes out his brtiva and wobbles over to the Compson family. He takes the shotgun from Bully and gives the girl a glazzy wink. Grabbing the veck by the shirt,  he forces Quentin in the direction of the door by holding the brtiva in the other hand pressed against his spine. Bully moves towards Rick and Len on the other side of the room as the Compson family stays huddled together. "You droogs wait until I get back", Alex says before heading outside with Quentin. Rick guffs, waiting for the two of them to exit the house before brandishing his nozh and smecking at the Compsons.

A cool breeze passes across the fields and the sky is full of stars as Alex leads Quentin down the road to the tied up horses. Alex tosses the shotgun into the field and nudges him with the brtiva in the direction the driver's seat. "Get in, brother. You yeckate." Understanding the request, Quentin hoists himself up and jumping into the passenger side, Alex waits for Quentin to methodically grab the reins. The horses neigh and start at a trot before picking up speed as the two young men set out into the nochy.

"You don't govoreet much do ya veck?" Quentin does not respond or look at Alex. He continues to focus on steering the horses while mumbling under his breath as they travel across the dirt roads surrounded by vast pastures and crops. "Hey, slow down there brother", Alex says grabbing one of the reigns out of Quentin's hand. 'Let's govoreet for a malenky lomtik.' Quentin turns his head slowly with a look of disbelief and finally makes eye contact with Alex. "Maybe you will pony if I govoreet with a gentleman's goloss. Viddy, I made a mistake coming here, oh brother, and I am going to set things right. Take us to your local authorities so I can turn myself and my droogs in for attacking your family. My appy polly loggies. What I mean is, my apologies. to you and your poor family. Hopefully we can arrive back before Bully, Len and Rick can cause any more harm. Quentin noded in agreement and took hold of both reigns. Picking up speed, they turned right and headed towards what Alex could viddy was a small town with shining lights. "Quentin, right?" The young man beside him nodded again. "Perhaps that is it, Quentin. Perhaps I am getting too old for the sort of jeezny I had been leading, brother. I can't stay angry at Dr. Brodsky for what he did to me. Nevermind who he is, it will take too long to explain." What's your story, malchick?"

Suddenly, Quentin brought the horses to a stop and handed Alex the reigns. With an intense look, he began to speak but Alex could not fully understand what the young man was saying. Oh, the irony! Fragmented sentences, someone named "Caddy", something about clocks and incest, the old south, the civil war, suicide, a plethora of nonsensical stream-of-consciousness:

Caddy 
I got in front of her again 
Caddy 
stop it 
I held her 
Im stronger than you 
she was motionless hard unyielding but still 
I wont fight stop youd better stop 
Caddy dont Caddy 
it wont do any good dont you know it wont let me go the honeysuckle drizzled and drizzled I could hear the crickets watching us in a circle she moved back went around me on toward the trees 
you go on back to the house you neednt come 
I went on 
why dont you go on back to the house 
damn that honeysuckle..

Why does he not use proper sentences? Alex thought to himself. Quentin continued with his rant: After they had gone up stairs Mother lay back in her chair, the camphor handker- chief to her mouth. Father hadn't moved he still sat beside her holding her hand the bellowing hammering away like no place for it in silence    When I was little there was a picture in one of our books, a dark place into which a single weak ray of light came slanting upon two faces lifted out of the shadow. You know what I'd do if I were King?...   

Befuddled and growing angry, Alex tried desperately to resist that old feeling of ultra-violence but Quentin refused to stop his interminable, self-indulgent, post-modernist babbling absurdities. ''Stop it, stop it, stop it" Alex kept creeching out. "Shut your litso you grahzny bastard, for I can stand no more!" "For Bog's sake!" Quentin paid no attention to Alex.

Finally, unable to take anymore of this chepooka, Alex took his brtiva from his carman and lunged at Quentin's litso. Krovvy flowed everywhere as he sliced at Quentin's gorlo and stabbed him multiple times in the tick-tocker. Silence. Alex never fully appreciated peace and quiet until this moment. He kicked the slumping body out of the wagon and it fell to the ground with a loud thump. "I'm cured" he said, smecking to himself as he turned the horses around back in the direction of the Compson house.

The End.