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Outside the door they sat on the bench, and the whole scene with the buttons was repeated exactly as I had retold the story to over the years. As far as I could tell, the walk across the fields and into the woods was the same, scene for scene, and the love-making was carefully, and enigmatically, handled as before. I could understand now that there might be some who would protest that the actor and actress were under age, but almost everything was inferred by the viewer; suggested but not shown by the director.
Disillusioned at my apparent inability to remember the film correctly I watched the scenes with the alternative suitor without quite the same passion as before. I had retold the story of the film on so many occasions and nobody had ever said that I had changed any details, therefore I must have reported it wrongly from the very begi
I was too a
The credits came up and I turned it off. I put the DVD back in its blank case and decided to go and get myself ready for bed. I locked up the house and turned off all but the landing light, where I stopped to look in at Yvo
I sensed that something wasn't quite right, though, and walked into the room.
There, in our bed, was a dark-haired woman. I stood quite still, not wanting on any account to wake her. I found myself trembling, though, and backed out of the door, not knowing what to do. There, at the top of the stairs was our wedding photo, and I had problems standing as I saw myself, in a picture from twenty years ago, beside a pretty, plump, dark-haired woman.
I must have fallen asleep on the sofa that night, and the next morning was the usual whirlwind of getting the children's breakfast and taking them to school before I myself carried on to work. I murmured something to the darkened bedroom before I had left the house, trying not to think who was lying under the blankets.
I am not sure how I got through the day. All that I could think of was that my wife had changed. This was a ludicrous proposition, especially as the wedding photograph showed that it was my error. I certainly didn't feel mad, but through the whole day I examined every possibility, and the only one that made any sense was that I had made an error of vast proportions. This did not convince me, of course, and it was with the greatest trepidation that I made my way home that evening. I parked in the garage and stood in the dark, not wanting to go indoors. Despite the turmoil that my mind was in, I realised that I was not thinking about the dark-haired woman in my house, but of my confusion between the heroines of the film I had seen. It was when I found myself thinking about the last scene of the film that I decided to go indoors.
My daughter greeted me in the hall as though nothing was at all amiss. Indeed, she a
I walked through to the kitchen where the dark-haired woman was preparing di
"You watched that film last night, didn't you?" she asked.
I agreed that I had.
"I understand," she said. "We were meant to watch it together, but after all these years you couldn't wait to see if it was the same as you'd remembered it. I hope you don't mind, but when I got out of bed this afternoon I wasn't up to anything other than sitting in front of the television. I decided that I might as well watch the film as well. And you were right; it's a wonderful film, but you didn't remember the end properly, did you?"
I shook my head.
"But you were right about Yvo
And she hugged me, and although I could not see her face I knew that she was crying. I should have felt love for her, but all that I could think of was the dark garage, and the rage that was growing within me…
Girl in Pieces by Graham Edwards
I was changing the filter on the coffee machine when two tons of wet clay crashed through my office door. The clay was wearing a yellow municipal jacket and dragging a garbage can. The clay was eight feet tall and bright like a Satsuma. The clay was a golem.
"I thought you apes took the garbage out," I said, clipping the coffee filter back.
"You a private detective?" said the golem.
"That's what it says on the door."
"You gotta help me." The golem held up the hand that wasn't holding the garbage can. It was holding a blood-streaked axe.
Rain gusted in, driving flecks of orange clay off the golem's legs. The carpet round his feet went dark.
"Don't they give you waterproofs?" I said.
"There ain't enough to go round. You gotta fight for them. Little guys like me-we don't stand a chance."
I started backing up: I don't like golems. "I'll take your word for it. Now, say your piece and get out."
"But you gotta help me."
"No, I don't."
"But I got no place else to go."
I'd backed up to the filing cabinet. I reached round and pulled open the second drawer. Rummaging blind, I found what I was looking for. I yanked it out and aimed it at the golem.
"What's that?" said the golem. The clay of his brow sagged to make a frown.
"Water pistol," I said.
"You what?"
"Don't be fooled by the size. The cops use these for crowd control. The clip's got a wormhole feed from the Styx. I pull this trigger, it unloads sixteen tons of river water in about three seconds."
"Won't that make a mess on your carpet?"
"That mess will be you, pal. Now get out of my office before I turn you in."
The golem stood there, still frowning. The rain poured through the door.
I heard police sirens.
The golem brought the axe handle down on the garbage can lid. The can rang like a gong. "They found me!"
I flipped the safety off the water pistol.
The golem's gigantic head swung from side to side as he searched for an escape route. The cop cars rounded the intersection, sirens screaming.
My finger tightened on the trigger.
And that's when the golem dropped to his knees.
"Please, mister! I ain't done nothing wrong. I know what you people think of us golems. But I ain't like the others. You gotta believe me. You're my last chance. Someone done a terrible wrong and the cops think it's me, but it ain't. And if they take me away, whoever done it… they'll get clean away. And that ain't right. That ain't right at all. So, you see, you gotta help. You gotta find out who done it. You gotta put it right. And if you won't do it for me, you gotta do it for her!"
The golem stood up again. He flicked the lid off the garbage can. It crossed the room like a frisbee. Then the golem picked up the can and emptied its contents on the floor.
A girl came out. She was in pieces: sliced arms and diced legs, chunks of muscle and slops of gore that might have been lungs or liver or lights; spears of white bone like blank signposts poking out of the whole hideous mess. Handfuls of soft pale flesh slimed with crimson. Worst of all: a pretty face, unmarked except around its ragged edge, floating in a lake of blood.