Purple Clowns

This is for the "Under Purple Clouds" Challenge from Vocal which you can read about below:

"Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky."

It was a rubbish first line and he knew it. When he read it out they heard it as purple clowns, they never listened much to what he said anyway. The thing is every night at midnight there were purple clouds on his ceiling from the weed he had smoked and the light from the purple and red LED light strips around the walls of his bedroom. he smoked weed to help him come up with ideas, that were world beaters when he was high but trash when he came down.

This was morning, well eleven of the clock for him, the purple clouds had dissipated but the swell of weed was still strong in the air and the purple clowns were still there in his minds stopping him, or at least slowing down, the assignment that he was supposed to be working on.

The day did not go well.

He always handwrote his work first, his handwriting was good enough to be scanned by his phone then transferred to his tect processor but a nine of the clock that night his sheet of paper read thus:

"Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky."

Nothing was coming, no inspiration, nothing, a big fat zero.

He had a couple of days to deliver but he could not do that without putting pen to paper. He had heard about Artificial Intelligence Text Generators but decided that he couldn't be bothered to research that option, maybe he would try it tomorrow.

He rolled a spliff, closed the blinds, put on the half speed version of "The Heavenly Music Corporation" from "No Pussyfooting by Brian Eno and Bob Fripp (he loved that compact disc with the extra slowed down long versions), swithched on the lights and lit up in the hope of finding inspiration.

By midnight he was in a room of purple cloud an dred blushing LED light lights and then the purple clowns came.

He was shocked, were they in his head or were they real? They were certainly in the room with him and seemed to have come out from the cloud covered walls, or maybe from another dimension.

Him: "Who Are You? Why Are You Here?"

Clown1: "We are the clowns of your unconscious drug addled mind"

Clown2: "We are here to help you create, we are good at that"

Him: "But you are Clowns. You make people laugh and frighten them as well"

Clown1: "That is so, but we are a magical expression of your mind and can be conjured whenever you are in need"

Clown2: "With the correct stimulus of course"

Both clowns laughed and he was sure whether to be afraid or interested.He decided to go for the latter and chance a question.

Him: "So can you help me?"

Clown1: "Tell us what you want or need and we will help you"

Clown2: "We can't do things like tell the future, give you a winning lottery ticket or make someone fall in love with you, but we can help you"

Him: "I need this assignment finishing, well completely writing"

Clown1: "Take your pen and drift off into the realms of Morpheus, tomorrow you will have your assignment completed"

Clown2: "We must take our leave now"

And the clowns drived away into the purple clouded walls.

He woke with a start, pen in hand. On the coffee table next to him was three pages of his assignment. He read it three or four times, it was perfect.

It had required virtually no effort on his part, but his purple clowns had created a masterpiece by his hand.

Was it magic? It was definitely real.

And this, he was thinking, was just the start.

Today would be a very good day, he had found his future