My em had to wake me up the next morn, because I would've slept the day away otherwise. Though I render her help useless, because I had 'a rather large pain in the head that could quite possibly wear off with a few more hours of rest'. The gloopy cheena believed me and let me be until she left for work.

Once I was absolutely certain that my parents no longer were downstairs (since I didn't hear them chumbling among themselves anymore) I emerged from my room and slithered into the kitchen. I prepared myself toasted kleb with jammiwam and sat at the table, skimming through the day's edition of the gazetta.

My rasoodock was fretting over whether the dear old Inferior's water-swollen litso was going to appear somewhere throughout, but I tried not to worry my fagged gulliver over it much. I had to act as if I hadn't just oobivatted a like friend only a mere nine hours ago, ittying on with my day as if a normal person would.

See, my brothers, I suppose you could govreet that I was a bit of a con artist. I had an awfully horrorshow acting talent and didn't snap in dva under pressure. I could lie straight to millicents' litsos and do it while grinning. Back in my great days of extreme ultra-violence, I didn't have to deal with millicents. My droogs and I were always able to flee real skorry at the first shoom of the sirens. They were always able, but not I. No, brothers, not even Alexander the Large could escape the hold of the millicents at one time. But it wasn't because of my own doing. It was because of sodding Dim, smashing a bottle of moloko onto my gulliver real oomny, the glass razrezzing and shiving into my right glazzy. While I was horning in pain, he, Georgie-boy, and Pete fled, leaving me to be dragged away, thrown into the Staja. I despised Dim. I had no idea how I even could've considered him a droog of mine. Same went with Len. Oh my brothers, with Len and Dim constantly eating and eating and eating at me and testing me it just made me turn shades of red with fury, and truly brought out the ultra-violent side of myself, wanting to turn to my beauteous cut-throat britva and do just that to the both of them…

My thoughts were cut short when I looked down at my hand. White-knuckled, I was, with the jellied toast crushed in my fist, globs of jammiwam all through my fingers and dripping all over my hand.

I grunted, disgusted that other moodges could actually bring me to my boiling point, and dropped my toasted kleb to the glass plate. My nogas felt oddly heavy as I went over to the sink to clean off my hands and rinse off the fine China. While osooshing my calloused hands, I happened to glance out the window and viddy a few nadsats whispering among themselves on the fire escape. I rolled down my sleeves and went closer to the window to perhaps get a closer look.

Tree malchicks, one devotchka – as I had created the idea that acts of ultra-violence were best committed in a gruppa of four. They were chumbling, viddying a polyclef the molodoy cheena had in her grasp, and comparing it to the lock of my pee and em's apartment that was a mere few meters away.

It struck upon Your Humble Narrator that the nadsats were going to force themselves into my home. I could just von the smoke of a cancer that one of the malchicks was smoking, the scent enough to make me sick. I can't stand the von of cancer smoke; never could, and I don't know why.

Such nazzes, these nadsats were! Didn't they know you were supposed to perform ultra-violence at nochy in the moonlight?

There wasn't much time until the four skittish and hell-raising nadsats would be in the same area as I. Running real skorry up to my room, I just about tripped over my precious snake, who was slithering around in the hallway for some reason, and snatched up my swordstick. I could slooshy the sound of the polyclef working itself into the fire escape lock and the mad, insane smecking of the four of them. I stuck the eyelashes to my right glazzy and put on my shlapa and leapt out and stood at the top of the stairs, still in my neezhnies, waiting for the sorry ones to meet their very furious idol.

The loud creaking of the rusty hinges echoed throughout my apartment, accompanied by the excited whispering of nadsats.

'Viddy if they're sleeping,' said the devotchka.

'Why can't you go up? I'll stay down here and raid the cupboards and cabinets.' replied the voice of one of the malchicks. I slooshied the sound of rather nasty hocking in the same tone of goloss, so I assumed that this was the one sucking on a cancer.

'You nazz! When I give you orders, you follow them. Now, go up with George and Squid and beat the old ded and cheena to a bloody pulp.' This devotchka was rather bossy. Not only was it her goloss that infuriated me, but it was what she was govreeting. The old people she was trying to oobivat were my parents! Nobody would lay a finger on my parents before I was six feet underground.

The sound of heavy-heeled boots stomped across the living room tile and even closer to the stairs. I was suddenly flooded with excitement. Although I looked like a veck who was just about to set off for his morning job at the strip club, I was going to perform ultra-violence during the day! The best part was, I couldn't be penalized, since I would technically be acting in self-defense.

It seemed like several minootas before the litsos of the tree malchicks appeared at the bottom of the steps. Priceless, it was, to see their expressions when they saw whose house they had broken into.

'Morning, droogs,' I began, descending down the stairs in a like hop, only one noga touching each stair. The malchicks backed up skorry, running into each other with nervous uhhhhhhs and ummmms. I grinned and tapped the end of my swordstick on the tile, goolying toward them real slow, making sure that the nadsats were real spoogy of me. Eventually, I had trapped the tree of them in a corner of my kitchen, their shoulders shrunken and their litsos pale. I could slooshy the devotchka gasp gromky behind me.

I uncapped my cut-throat britva with no words, and the smallest malchick, a blond with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen (that weren't my artificial ones of course) of the same color, began to crark into tears. He tightly gripped the tallest veck's arm, probably his bratty, a brunet with a long face. He and the other malchick, who appeared to be Asian and of no relation to the other two, were stricken with strack. They breathed heavily and looked up at me, undoubtedly sensing death.

But, oh my brothers, I was only going to have a little fun with them.

I moved the nozh around in my palm, as if viddying and examining it. 'What is this talk of snuffing a ded and baboochka that you speak?' The blond howled louder and shoved his face in the crook of his bratty's right rooker. The brunet was also the one with the cancer, as at that moment, it fell out of his rot as if on cue. His glazzies were locked on me the whole time. That made me smeck, but I did so evilly to frighten the nadsats even more. I did this gromky and then abruptly stopped, shoving my litso closely to the brunet's.

'When I govreet to you, I expect you to answer, pony?' I creeched, lifting up my britva and holding it behind me, the tip facing the malchick's forehead. He swallowed hard and opened his rot.

'Ah, um, we were almost positive two old people lived here, and we were… ah—'

'Spot on, droogie! There is a starry couple that resides here!' I interrupted purposely, lowering my rooker and smiling, placing my hands on my hips. I also gave the tree vecks some space, the muscles of the two eldest loosening. The blond, however, continued to wail and blubber into his bratty's rooker.

I made them feel safer on purpose. I stamped my right noga forward, which was bare, and grabbed the brunet by his black collar, pinning him against the wall. The blond horned in strack, revealing his litso.

'But,' I said, taking my nozh and putting the tip by his forehead again, only this time, I lightly pressed it into the middle, the red red krovvy beginning to sputter out of the new wound. 'Those people are my parents.' The brunet gasped for air like Len had the night earlier when I put him in his place, his litso turning a bright shade of red in struggle. His squinty glazzies were wide open.

'No, no, please!' The blond boy horned, reaching up and gripping my left rooker, which was the one I had clasped onto his bratty's shiyah. He dug his nails into my wrist, skriking as hard as he could, creeching, spoogy. I could feel the infection seep into my bloodstream from all of the dirt that was caked under the nadsat's fingernails, and my red red krovvy flowed all over my arm real skorry. With no choice, I dropped the brunet and faced the blond, furious.

'Who are you to stop me?' I barked, skorry wrapping my hands around his shiyah instead of his bratty's, beginning to shake him roughly.

The violence was thrilling me so much, brothers, I cannot even express. As the Asian boy bolted and flung himself out and down the fire escape, the devotchka stood and viddied in strack, the blond horned and crarked, and the brunet tried his best to return oxygen to his lungs, I decided that I could greaten the violence and make it ultra.

I dropped the blond, but only partially, and grabbed him by his voloss. He crarked bloody murder, tears spilling all over his litso and his black collared shirt (a rip-off of Your Humble Narrator's longsleeve, no doubt). Gripping my swordstick with white knuckles I raised it above my head, cracking down on the malchick's gulliver. A smirk washed across me as the blond grew quieter with each blow, the red red krovvy becoming easier and easier to viddy through his light-colored curls. The brunet was passed out at my nogas from inhaling and exhaling too skorry. The devotchka, however – who was actually pretty attractive, I noted just then, with short white shorts overtop black tights – whipped out a bolshy nozh and pointed it towards me from over by the couch.

'Stop it! Right now!' she squeaked, drawing nearer, 'I'll stab you before you can even react!' In the heat of the moment she had lost her thick nadsat yahzick. She was dressed as a feminized version of myself, with longer fake eyelashes on her right eye, a bow wrapped around her shlapa, and a tightfitting longsleeve. Oh, how the molodoy devotchkas idolized Alex the Large. I was their savior. And yet, here this one was, trying to break into her savior's home. Tsk tsk, what a nazz.

I let the blond crumple next to his bratty, the both of them flowing krovvy from several places, their glazzy-lids closed relaxingly. I turned to the parody of myself and smirked, swinging up my swordstick so the end of it was resting in my left palm and I had it gripped in my right. 'Darling, please,' I uncapped my cut-throat britva, 'your nozh may be bolshy, but it's no match for my precious britva.' I ran the blade through my now-free left palm, a thin, neat cut forming, red red krovvy spilling. I could sense the cheena tense up, fearful but courageous noises escaping her tightly closed goobers.

Knockoff Alex shook like a small animal, waving her nozh in the air like it was a flag. She was making me nervous, admittedly. 'I-I won't have to use this if you just give me Georgie and Cam!'

I'm pretty sure I flinched when I slooshied the name 'Georgie'. One of those two bratties shared the same name as my snuffed droog, oobivatted in a robbery attempt. Oh my brothers, good ol' Georgie-boy was my favorite out of my three old droogs. I enjoyed messing around with him more than I enjoyed messing with Dim or Pete—I lied, appy polly loggies. I found the most fun in messing with Dim, but that was beside the point. I never got to bid my farewell to Georgie-boy, and I felt incomplete ever since I heard the news.

Snapping back to reality, I kept my cool in front of this devotchka, although it was near impossible because I was wearing my eyelashes and shlapa but was in my neezhnies. Luckily, though, the cheena was too focused on whether I was going to snuff her or not, so I was being taken seriously.

I clicked my yahzick on the roof of my mouth and shook my gulliver with a fake apologetic expression. 'Sorry, love, but no one breaks into my dear pee and em's house without paying their dues.' I tapped the empty longer 3/4ths of my swordstick on the ground in second intervals, smecking at the now-crying devotchka. She still flailed her rooker around that gripped her nozh. This made me furious; had she any idea how to use that thing?

'Stop swinging that around like an animal, you sodding cheena! Have you any idea how to gracefully wield a knife?!'

She stopped, glancing up at me as if I had just told her she was on the death row, then took it back seconds later. This continued for about a minoota – just some awkward staring – before she unexpectedly charged at me with her nozh. I yawned, grabbing hold of her rooker and wrestling her to the ground with just my right side. When she was at my nogas, I stamped on her back with my bare foot. She wheezed afterward, curled in a ball, real spoogy.

This whole thing was horrorshow, but I felt as if I was letting them win. I wasn't acting like I did at nochy, I was acting more… soft. But then again, I was a totally different person under the light of the luna than I was under the sun.

I knelt down next to the platching devotchka, obviously a beginner to ultra-violence. I lifted her gulliver up so I could look her in the litso by her hair, somewhat fagged. 'Listen, idiot,' I said, 'If you just drag… whatever those two boys are to you out of this apartment by the fire escape right now, I'll let you go without hurting you. Okay?' The nadsat nodded, sniffly, the noise of mucus in her sinuses gurgling each time she breathed in. I helped her up, as I was always a tiny bit politer to cheenas and devotchkas, and walked over to the door. I opened it with a swift action of my rooker as the mini-weepy-Alex dragged the two sleeping vecks from my kitchen and out the door. As she passed me, she looked up at me, with my clenched zoobies through closed goobers, and frowned.

'Apologies for all the trouble, droog.' She practically choked out the last word, as if asking me if it was okay to use. I just stared at her, not accepting or rejecting, until she walked out.

I roughly slammed the door, still somewhat in confusion as in what just sloochatted. What I was most angered about was not that droog-wannabe nadsats were going to oobivat my pee and em, but that I, Alex DeLarge, king of ultra-violence, had let them slip through my fingers. I should've snuffed them right then and there, hiding their bodies in the ducts until given the opportunity to take them out at nochy and weight them in the Marina. But I didn't, and I despised myself for it.

My fists were clenched tightly and so were my zoobies, as I was ready to burst, my ultra-violent side wanting to appear and cause hell, but I felt a heavy feeling on my right foot. Glancing down, I saw my python slithering across me with her sladky, thick body under the table. It was then when I realized I was still in my neezhnies. I suppose I was so peeved over the nadsats, platties weren't even on my rasoodock (oh my brothers, as I was standing at the tippy-tops of my stairs in wait, I most definitely had time to change into my pants, longsleeve, codpiece and whatnot).

With a swift movement of the rooker, I gripped my python's stomach from the kitchen table she was hiding under and slung her over my shoulder, with her slithering back and forth in content, her scaly and smooth body feeling cold against my bare plott. I stepped into my room, tossing her on the floor with a rather gromky thump. She lay stiff in shock for a split second before flicking her thin yahzick as she always did, gliding quietly under my bed. She was not as elegant and loveable as my dear, poor old Basil was, but she passed.

I opened up my closet and extracted my favorite blue suit and tie (the one I had worn upon entry into the Staja). My choodessny eyelashes and shlapa were taken off and put in their respectable places, but only until the nochy came, for that was when I would swap litsos and stroll down the Flatblock Marina with my trusty swordstick, tolchocking and dratting the first poor veck that happened to unfortunately cross paths with me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Bully, Rick, and Len. Spite of our differences we made a quite horrorshow banda, I must admit, cleverly escaping the millicents with tactics that Your Humble Narrator had thought of with my amazing mozg.

I fuddled with my tie, as I was never too sure as to how to knot it, but finally got it in such a way that I was pleased with. Turning on my heel and scooping my eemya-less snake up to return her to the drawer, I bouncingly went downstairs, preparing to go out for a walk. I was already standing in the hallway, swinging the door closed, when I suddenly stuffed my loafer in the way. The wood crushed my noga, but the pain only lasted a short minoota. A glint of silver shone on my pee and em's plush carpet where the ptitsa had been standing not long ago. I went back inside, my keys still in the door, and pocketed the polyclef that the nadsats had dropped in strack.

That could very well come into use later.

…

Oh my Bog, it seems like so long since I last published a chapter! Sorry to keep you waiting, if you were anticipating this. The middle of the chapter uses less Nadsat, but that's because it was written when I didn't have internet- which meant no access to a Nadsat dictionary. I had to use what words I did know and just hoped Little Alex stayed in character. I had to have him point out that he wasn't acting normal as a sign that showed that I was aware of it. It shouldn't happen again!

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be published. I'll try to make my deadline Saturday at the most.