A Clockwork Carol

Summary: During Alex's coma in the hospital he receives a visit from three ghosts. Genre: Humor, Parody. There will be some serious parts as well but it's mostly humor. Merry early Christmas :D


The colors rush by us, bright and bold and shimmering against my flesh. And then we like stop, real abrupt my brothers and only friends as the colors part like the red sea to reveal her. My first instinct was to go to her, to wrap her up and kiss her sladky rot and—no. This was the past, was it not? She couldn't see me. "What was her name, Alex?" the spirit asks me, "Rachel. She was…nobody just a devotchka I dated for a few years. She died, that's that. Let's move on then, eh?" the spirit put her fingers on my shoulder to keep me from walking away. "What would she think, if she knew the kind of person you've turned into today?" my head snaps to look at her with fire in my glazzies and blades in my goloss.

"She's dead, you blasted soomka. It doesn't matter, me being a like sladky dobby malchick isn't going to bring her back or turn back time so I can tell her—" I cut myself off, turning instead to look at Rachel. She's in her bedroom, finishing up her eyeliner and the doorbell ringy-ring-rings which makes her bounce around the room like an excited puppy dog and yell down to her em "Can you get that mum? Tell him I'll be down in a minute" and I remember oh my brothers that this night was our one year anniversary date. The spirit puts her arm around me, "She was beautiful Alex. She loved you, very much you do know that don't you?" yes of course I knew that; she told me every single day.

"We got in a like britva two weeks after our first year anniversary, you viddy…I govoreeted such nasty wicked things to her and then she was gone and I never…got a chance to give her my like sincerest appy-polly-loggies. She was beautiful, and sweet. She was the sweetest devotchka I've ever known"

I watch as past-Alex swings her around like a lubilubbing good beau would, I watch as past-Alex dips her and kisses her real sladky and deep on the rot. I watch as he flawlessly charms her parents, I watch as they walk out the door. The colors are dancing again, and we are at my apartment in the lobby. She is wearing a floral print tank top and demin shorts, I recognize that outfit and I remember what happened here oh my only friends. "I don't want to see this" I hiss through my clenched zoobies.

"I don't fucking love you, you stupid little bitch. I NEVER loved you, I was just using you darling. You are nothing to me, I fucking hate you. I hate the way you can't keep your sodding rot shut for more than five seconds, I hate your cally taste in warblers, I hate the way you dress, I hate the way you cook, I hate everything about you"

The silence that followed that rant, my brothers, has stayed in my rassodock forever. There wasn't any anger or ultraviolence in her glazzies; no desire to rip me apart piece by piece. I wish there had been; her anger and hatred would have been much better than what I really saw. She was hurt. Normally people's hurt brought me pleasure but hers only made my stomach twist and knot. Her eyes filled up with tears and I remember wanting to reach out to her to tell I was sorry, I didn't meant any of it but I was a gloopy stubborn nadsat chelloveck and I kept my mouth shut.

"So how much of that was true?" the spirit-dama asks me, I roll my glazzies because she already knows the fucking answer. "None of it" I govoreet sharply, "She's dead now. So just drop it"


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