Clockwork Orange Language Novels & Stories

Fuck! Everything we all went through… The key to everything you seek…. He was speaking in a fucking coded language. One I did not understand! .

Not to me. Outside the thick glass of the viewport, the Bone Wastes rushed by—a blur of white salt flats and jagged black rock. But in the wind screaming over the hull, I heard them. Voices. They weren't speaking Common. They weren't speaking the guttural Highblood dialect. They were speaking in clicks and hums. A language that tasted of dust and starlight. ...return... fragment... bind... "Make them stop," I whispered. Pressing my hands over my ears. The sound vibrated in my skull.

The menace is finally gone, yet he’s still tightly coiled, as if he could strike at any moment. “I don’t want anything to do with that world. Guns, money, death. I want boring, kittens, books.” For some reason it doesn’t seem like he likes that answer. His phone rings, he answers it. I would never have thought Russian was a sexy language. Ending the call, he slides the phone back into the inner pocket. “Was Russian your first language? You have only a trace of an accent when you speak English, but you also speak carefully, like many of us who grew up speaking another language, to select the right word in English.”

His eyes went feral and human at once. “Stay in this room,” he said. The black on my wrist tightened like a ring. And in the ice cellar, every token spoke one word in wood-tick that was not a language and was perfectly clear. Soon.

WARNING SIGNS: LANGUAGE THAT IS UNAMBIGUOUS CURSING VIOLENCE, GUN VIOLENCE SELF-INFLICTED HARM BLOOD, DECEASE, and GORE VALENTINA POV My fist slammed down on my desk with a loud bang that echoed throughout the room. I growled in irritation, my patience was running out. I was really angry. Fucking hell. Since I've been back home, all I've encountered is chaos. Just when I think I'm making progress, something unexpected pulls me back to reality. This job can be so fucking annoying at times.

Speaking of the devil… She gave him another nervous smile as his eyes darted between her and the clock, clearly annoyed. “Good morning? Do you even have a freaking clue what time it is?” He sounded like he was barely holding back his temper. “Well, you’ve looked at the clock, like, five times already… why are you asking me? Don’t tell me you can’t read an analog clock?” she shot back sarcastically. Predictably, her snark earned her another glare, which she ignored as she turned her attention to the clock. “There, see? It’s only 8 AM. Pshhh. Remember the three hands of the clock—short for hour, long for min—"

Oliviér asked with a nice tone. Perhaps almost too nice. Constantine flashed him his own smile. "Of course not, Oliviér, do not be ridiculous," his tone was as nice as Oliviér's. Elizabeth felt as if she was watching two peas in a pot talk. "Etu strav nichol," Said Oliviér in a language Elizabeth did not understand. "Jer," Constantine replied. Although their tones were calm and even nice, Elizabeth felt the air thicken dangerously. It felt hot and choking in her throat.

Was it this bad to talk with it? “The language, you spoke the first time I saw you, is called the Ira language. It’s an ancient one and people who know it probably are counted my fingers in the whole world. And I expect you to not talk with it at all? I don’t want my slave to attract so much attention did on the stage and it’s better if you don’t let anyone know about it, even my friend Fredden.” “I don’t know where that gemstone is; I lied because I wanted to know if someone spoke the same language as I did,” I lied, feeling relaxed under his touch. He massaged my body and I felt he did so to make me as honest as possible.

It was raining now and dusk was falling. “Yup,” he growled and the young man on the other end of the line chuckled. “Sounds like you need a good f*ck, my man.” chortled Claude and O’Grady almost sputtered. “My Pappa sounds that way when he has not screwed my Mumma, y’know, if they have had a lover’s spat and stuff…” went on the Delano scion blithely.

“ You better ask Doctor Sam, at least he’s familiar with languages. He must be with Grace, your friend in the second lab.” Reaching the second lab, Mercy placed the book gently on Doctor Sam's table “Which language is this?” Sam frowned in confusion after reading through the first sentence “This is meaningless,” Samson muttered, scanning each page. “What do you mean by meaningless?” Mercy demanded. Samson took off his glasses, raising a brow. “It’s gibberish. The language doesn't exist, it’s intentionally written that way.” Grace sighed. “See? Didn’t I tell you to stop investigating Hindley?”