Frank

Frank played a Suzanne Vega record. Her voice made water of the air in his studio flat, and he felt like a contented goldfish. He remembered listening to Suzanne Vega as a child and that made him happy, because when he was a child he wasn't so squat and squalid and saturated with the pollution of life.

Frank often wished he were a goldfish in a little bowl because he liked solitude and to forget.

The next evening, he was walking down a dark alley when he was approached by a woman. She appeared to him like a torch one may have used to light the corners of castles in times long past: her virginal white dress clung closely to her drainpipe frame while her red hair flickered in the midnight breeze with the rhythm of fire.

When they were only a few feet apart, she asked: 'You've seen my keys?'. Frank could tell it was a question because of the rising intonation. 'No,' Frank replied. She didn't break her stride as she passed him so, with only a single glance back, Frank continued his journey home.

He awoke the next day to the first morning of winter so he decided to leave for somewhere warm. It took him most of the day to pluck up the courage to book the flight. Frank was afraid of flying because often the metal detector doorways passengers were expected to pass through were too narrow for his body and often someone on the plane would complain to a pretty stewardess of his smell.

He arrived in Madrid mostly unscathed and spent the day walking around the city. Had he known that the word gordo that a small boy shouted at him translated as fat in English, he would most certainly have quit Spain immediately, but fortunately he only knew three words of Spanish, and none of them were gordo.

Frank liked to walk in the sun because it made him sweat. His medium-length hair would clump together and stick to his face or point out in all directions, but he didn't care. He was happy.

However, Madrid, like every city, was unkind to Frank. Soon he grew to despise the fluid rhyme of the Spanish language, which disappointed him greatly because the words hortera, razones and tierra were three of the most treasured words in his vocabulary.

Frank decided to leave Madrid for Berlin but before he did, he met the woman from the alley again. This time she walked into his hotel room. 'You've seen my keys?' she asked. 'Sorry, no,' he replied. 'I still haven't seen them.'

She turned and walked out so he followed her, negotiating the door carefully to prevent getting stuck and having to call for help. The white dress she still wore had no back, and despite his curiosity, virgin Frank could not help but be aroused by her bare shoulder blades and the hint of her buttocks. He padded after her across the floral carpet calling after her all the while, to no avail.

She stopped at the lift at the end of the corridor, and he stood alongside her. The lift doors opened surprisingly widely and they stepped in together. An instrumental arrangement of Frank's favourite Suzanne Vega song began playing softly as the doors closed. On each of the four walls was a mirror, which made Frank feel very uncomfortable.

'You've seen my keys?' she asked, hopefully. 'No!' he replied again. 'I haven't seen your keys! Tell me who you are; why you have been following me.' The lift doors reopened at ground level, and a number of people entered the lift, too many for Frank to squeeze past. The woman slipped out unnoticed, and the doors closed between the pair.

Frank hoped otherwise, but Berlin was much the same as Madrid, although all the signs and menus and people expressed themselves in German, not Spanish. The kids shouted dicke and the doorways were too narrow and the locals and tourists alike were disgusted with Frank, who hadn't showered since before his flight to Madrid.

And again, Frank saw the woman from the alley and the hotel. 'You've seen my keys?' she asked. 'Yes, I have,' said Frank. They were alone in a park at midnight. Frank had been masturbating subtly on the grass, having got bored of walking and waiting for her. She'd appeared just when he was beginning to enjoy himself.

He stood and buckled his belt. Her eyes didn't deviate from his until he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. She stepped forward and examined them. 'They're not mine,' she said. With the speed of another man, Frank slashed her face with the keys. The woman fell to the ground, shocked. Adrenaline surged through Frank's body and he leapt upon her. The key moved quickly, unlocking the blood from her body, turning her dress the colour of her hair. Neither of them made a sound.

When Frank was sure she was dead he returned to his German hotel and listened to a Suzanne Vega record.

Her voice made water of the air in his hotel room, and Frank felt like a contented goldfish. He remembered listening to Suzanne Vega as a child and that made him happy, because when he was a child he wasn't so squat and squalid and saturated with the pollution of life.

Frank often wished he were a goldfish in a little bowl because he liked solitude and to forget.