“Have you noticed anything weird about Clarence these days?”
“Other than normal? No, he’s always a little off base,” said Chris.
Brenda looked over the wall of her cubicle at Clarence squinting his eyes. He was working on something and it wasn’t work. He was obsessed more than his average quirkiness.
She turned to Chris, “He mumbling.”
“He always mumbles.”
“But, he’s mumbling words that I can’t understand. Usually, I can at least translate his idiosyncrasies.”
Chris, Dave, and Bill began their daily chant as they each said their individual line.
“He’s a jerk!”
“He’s a creep!”
“He’s a freak!”
And then all together, they chimed,
“He’s Clarence!”
Clarence cringed less than normal. The thickness of his skull was surpassed by the depth of his current thoughts. Those morons couldn’t penetrate his purpose today. Like a bobber being pulled down by a fish, his thoughts fought the surface of the water and then plunged deeply into the unseen depths of his mind.
“He’s up to something. He hasn’t touched the Merkensen Project in days,” said Brenda.
“Well, he’s touchin’ the Twinkies big time! Just look at that tanker!” blurted Chris.
Brenda dismissed the insult and looked over her cubicle again. Clarence was intense as he manipulated some objects on his desk. She was intrigued by his cubicle.
Birds. Pictures of birds everywhere. There were feathers everywhere. But, most of all, there was a stuffed owl glaring and staring at you when you walked by. Like the picture of Jesus, his eyes followed you no matter where you were. It seemed alive. Especially when Clarence talked to him, “I love my birds.”
To understand Clarence didn’t take much. He was a geek. He was overweight. He did geek things. Not really different from the others around him.
It was his voice. His voice was a perverted cross between Mickey Mouse and Julia Childs in heat. It wavered, it shimmered, it vibrated in fear. Of course, the surrounding jackals pounced upon him all of his life. They were relentless.
Nobody could respect his commands, “Leave me alone!” he would Mickily shrill.
They didn’t. They never did. They never would. Clarence was born a target.
Occasionally, Brenda would step in and stop the carnage, but she couldn’t be everywhere. She would find him cornered in the lab as the vicious attacks rotated from hyena to hyena.
Now they were at his desk taunting him.
“Look at the weirdo! He’s gluing feathers all over his arms!”
Clarence didn’t blush this time, he stated a fact.
“You know, birds are descendants of dinosaurs. They are powerful and have no regret in killing their prey. Their talons are like the claws of raptors. They can tear their prey apart while they eat them,” he warbled in his high and flute-like tone.
“Ooooohhhhh! I’m so scared!” mimicked Chris.
Clarence reached down and neatly took off his shoes and socks revealing eagle talons surgically attached to his feet.
With the fluid moves of Bruce Lee, he quickly attacked…