Clockwork Orange Language Novels & Stories

The old language I'm slowly learning to read. Somewhere in those carvings is a message the Architect left for me. I haven't been able to read all of it yet. But I'm getting closer. "Next time," I tell it, in the old dialect, rough and imperfect but understood. The points of light in its face flicker once. Close enough to a response. ~~~

One of them chirped, “Miss Carraway, I recognized the language you used at the beginning of the conversation and the Gallic. But what were you speaking between those two?” “Catalan,” she replied. Detecting dismay in the boy’s face, she added encouragingly, “I’m sure you could’ve grabbed the gist of it if you listened very carefully too. They are all cognate languages. Most of the differences lie in pronunciation and grammar. Don’t let your nerves get to you next time.”

My eyes water as I try to raise a hand to shield my face from the light, but the chains binding my wrists weigh down my arms. They pause, talking rapidly to each other, arguing about something. One of the guards jostles me like he’s trying to make a point, and the other grunts, then says in… the original language of the Deadlands, a language so ancient its origins have been lost to time, “Go out there and wait for direction.”

Jack Horner shakes hard when Goldie's tongue touches his skin, and Goldie lets out a small laugh because he likes making the big man move like that. "Goddamn, boy, your tongue feels like soft cloth." "Thank you, Daddy—oh, I mean Jack!" Goldie Lockhart says fast. "Hmm," Jack Horner says, looking down at him. "Daddy. I like that word from you. Call me that name." "Okay, Daddy," Goldie Lockhart says. "Now get back to work, you cute young thing," Jack Horner says. "You mean this?" Goldie Lockhart asks, and he moves his tongue all around the big top part, sucking the wet spot from the small hole. It tastes a bit salty and sweet with the cream.

Instantly, the laughter was sucked from my lungs, replaced with the burn of acid. Olive’s face morphed into a menacing glare, one she reserved solely for our time at the University. She meant to snap, “what the hell do you want”, but because she had a mouthful of cookie it came out a bit more like: “Wah te ell oo yuh wunt?” Mykelle looked down her perfectly angular nose at Olive. “I have no idea what you just said. Maybe try swallowing the food in your mouth before you speak, yeah?” Olive did just that. She swallowed her mouthful of cookie and repeated herself slowly, enunciating each word. “What the hell do you want?”

Tones I do. Anger. Grief. Hatred. I step forward before I can stop myself. "I know we're here to kill ourselves, but at least speak in a language I can understand. The only time I understand Russian is when that fucker's balls deep inside me. 'Bitch' sounds the same in every language, right? Well, I'm his bitch, but—" "Carlton!" Amanda's voice cuts through the warehouse like a whip. I shut up. Konstantin's eyes drift to me. He smiles, and it's the kind of smile that makes me want to take three steps back.

‎Every syllable slides over my skin like a blade wrapped in velvet. ‎I step forward, boots silent on the marble that reflects the city lights like black ice. ‎“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap. “I’m here to tell you to back the fuck off.” ‎He swirls the whiskey in his glass, amber liquid catching the light like liquid fire. ‎“Language, krasotka.” ‎The Russian pet name punches the air from my lungs. ‎“Don’t call me that.” ‎He smiles, slow, filthy, sinful.

My pussy still throbbed with the bite of the alcohol, but it also felt so completely numb from all the orgasms and…well, yes, the alcohol, too. I continued talking about Sean mindlessly, even though it was apparent that the older tan man behind the wheel didn’t give a damn about what I had to say, and I suspected he didn’t even know English at all. “Hey, uhm, you missed my street,” I said when the man with the black moustache and tiny beady eyes just drove past my condo without even looking at the numbers plastered on the buildings. Then I knocked on the divider between him and the passenger’s seat and raised my voice. “Excuse me?” I said extra slowly, in case he didn’t hear very well or did

I turned to him and he pecked my cheek. "Do you think I'm your pofa?" I looked at his eyes and sighed. "Perhaps but I suck at relationships and if I say it I don't want it to become untrue," I said sadly and he nodded in understanding. I stood back and watched him shake George's hand and ask him about the cargo he was there for using the federation language. George turned and spoke an odd language that sounded like singing to his crew and they hurried to do his bidding. "Was that your native language?" He smiled and nodded. I grinned back and Dregs came to my side and handed me a sparkling ring.

She was about to say something else when the waiter walked up to us and she signaled for me to place an order for what I wanted. I looked at the menu and got a bit confused for a moment. What did they write the menu with? This language was strange. Seeing me struggle with placing my order, Loretta laughed heartily. I’m sure she must have figured out that I didn’t understand the language. “Oh dear, I had forgotten you’re just an Omega and your parents were too poor to send you to the academy. You probably can’t read or understand Gisknox.” She said. I knew she was mocking me and my upbringing but I couldn’t care less. If only she knew….