Sex and Murder Magazine

By Daniel Ribot

My life; it was like one of those terrible B-movies. The type where you can see the end coming from a mile away. Everybody can work out what's going to happen, except the poor idiot stuck in the middle who is always led by the nose to wherever it is the plot wants him to go.

Roll titles: that's me; the thin geeky one. On Telly, you'd be reaching for the remote about now. Looks like a romcom with no rom in it.

Establishing shot: Judy that's my girlfriend, my long term girlfriend, the woman I thought was the one, the person I had planned a happy ending with. She's entering the house. Our house. She closes the door behind her. The camera swirls and sails through the air, taking you into the bedroom. The shot you are seeing is an homage to Orson Wells, to Citizen Kane's opening shot. Did you get the reference? Bet you did.

We go through the bedroom window and there she is. Judy, light of my life, in bed with Gary. Some opening scene, eh? It gets better. Any second now, I'll come in. You'll see me enter in a shot framed from the knees up. This is known in the biz as a Plain Americain shot. That's what the French call it. A shot perfect for capturing action. Will there be any action when I walk in on my girlfriend and Gary? Probably. But before I tell you, to delay the inevitable, I have to make you understand. Give you some back story.

For starters, you'll want to know who your narrator is, what kind of person I am. What kind of a person is it who finds himself in this kind of situation.

Ten years ago, 7,462 pints of beer ago, three lovers ago when I was just starting out I was a shy, bookish teenager working all hours in a rather dull office. I was a junior accountant. My only passions were a love of films and Saturday nights. After I met Judy, both these passions waned, I bottled everything up inside for years until... But I'm getting ahead of myself. I can't let you get to where you want to be yet.

“Want a coffee, Simon?”

“Yeah, please.”

“You won't mind making one then. Make one for me as well. Two sugars, semi-skimmed. And be quick.”

“But I made it last time.”

“I was your superior then, as well.”

“Alright, coming up.”

“And no backchat. We've got trainees coming in next week, so don't think we couldn't replace you. Plenty of people would be glad of your job. Remember that.”

Kettle, coffee, mugs, sugar. I spit in Gary's. If I could I'd smash his face in. If only I wasn't so frightened of him. But I'm frightened of all of them. Men and women both. Can't say I've made any friends working here. Six months and nobody has even asked me out for a drink yet.

“Gonna be long?”

“Eh?”

“With the kettle. Other people need to use it, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be, just hurry up.”

She turned away from me and gave her full attention to her mobile. She started texting as I hurried to get out of her way.

“Suzy, where's the coffees?” Malcolm. Shouting across the office.

“Simon's using the kettle.”

“Tell him to bog off.”

“He might beat you up.”

“I'd like to see him try.”

I blushed, biting back my frustration. I couldn't stand the thought of confrontation. It just made me ill. I never spoke to Suzy, just finished the coffees and carried them back, trying not to spill any. Most of them had already identified my character. I played a non-speaking role. Simon the junior who wouldn't say boo to a goose. That was me.

Only two kinds of films where those characters become the stars. One of them is superheroes, the other...

Anyway, the flashback is over. We're back in the bedroom now. Our bedroom. The one I've spent years paying the mortgage on. I open the door and enter to face a cosy little mise en scene.

Judy cries out. “Simon! What are you doing here?” Gary just smirks. He doesn't even bother getting up or covering his nakedness.

I say nothing. I'm still a walk-on part in my own feature. Behind the door is my new camera tripod. Judy's parents gave me it for Christmas. It's heavy, well balanced, with lots of sharp corners. I grab it with both hands. I turn round and swing it at both of them, screaming. Blood rises. His and hers. As a movie my life story could only be of two kinds; or genres as they call them. I'm no supehero, sadly. So...horror it is then.