Twisted Fiction Press


by on Jun.02, 2009, under Uncategorized

Dale first noticed Lila through the window of the store at closing time. She was staring at something behind him, and it took Dale a minute to figure out that it was the poster of Michael Madsen as Mr Blonde in Reservoir Dogs.
Dale had dedicated the entire bookstore to Tarantino as a way of trying to cash in on the retrospective down at the Odeon. The theatre owed him, after all. Hadn’t movies all but killed the book trade, although Dale didn’t really believe that. He kept his eyes on the girl and slid the drawer shut on the day’s meagre takings. The girl raised her arm and pulled the trigger on an imaginary gun. Dale smiled and acted shot.
The next day she came back. This time, the gun she pulled out from under her skirt was real. Bam! Dale looked down at the blossoming red rose on his shirt and then up again at the girl standing on the dark and empty street.
‘What?’ he said.
The bell on the glass door tinkled faintly. Dale couldn’t see who had come in because he was lying on the floor—he did not remember why. It was the girl. She stood over him, but her eyes were still on Michael Madsen. Her skin looked milky, as white as the moon. Her eyes were too large and too dark. The lashes waved like the tail-feathers of an exotic bird. She’d used mascara heavy with glitter. Then she looked down as if noticing him for the first time—the blood pooling mid-body. Her irises were inky and her lips looked full yet undefined. She knelt beside him, still holding the gun. He could smell chocolate on her breath.
‘You know I’m a fiction,’ said Lila Marc. ‘But you believe in me, anyway—don’t you?’


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