Daniel Guy's Blog

The Fuck Box. Carl carries Rosie in his arms, up the grand white marble staircase of his country manor house. She is asleep and naked. Her head hangs limp and her arm dangles, rocking gently from side to side with each careful step he takes. At the top of the house, he nudges heavy oak double doors open with his foot and then carries her into an enormous bedroom, filled with tasteful and exotic artefacts from Africa and Asia. In the centre of the room stands a large four-poster bed, carved from thick dark oak. The bed is completely enclosed in a tightly fitting clear plastic tent. On one side, the plastic curtain is unzipped and pinned back, so that Carl is able to lean over and lay the limp body of Rosie down onto shiny white plastic sheets. He rests her head down gently on the large white plastic pillow and then carefully pulls the long strands of her golden hair away from her face. He looks at his watch. He whispers to himself ...

by Daniel Guy (dedicated to Helene) Part 1 Roberta is Italian and gorgeous and slim, and after graduating from art school, she finds herself working in Milan, in the marketing department of Giovanni Plastics.  All the young men working in the factory downstairs from her office queue up to try to seduce her but she brushes them off with distain and a miserable stare because in her heart Giovanni Plastics is the last place on earth she wants to be.  The factory is grey and immense, situated in the ugly industrial part of the city.  Roberta longs to live in a world infinitely more exotic and beautiful than a factory producing nothing but plastic bags and plastic sheeting. One night she is working late on a new marketing campaign and apart from the security guards she’s the only one left in the entire building.  As dusk descends, she stands silhouetted in the solitary light from her fifth floor office window, and looks out at the vast empty car par...

by Daniel Guy. Clare drove out of the city centre, biting her lip with anxiety. At last she had an address, scribbled on an envelope lying on the passenger seat beside her, where her boyfriend Tom might be found. He was an undergraduate at Oxford University . They had been together for three years and she was still blissfully in love with him. She had thought he felt the same about her, but they’d had an argument a week before and not spoken since so she had driven up to Oxford to see him. He wasn’t answering his phone and his flat mates hadn’t seen him all day. One of them said that Tom might be staying with a mate out at a farmhouse in the country, so that was where she was heading. Clare found the place, pulled up on the driveway outside, and walked up the narrow gravel path to the front door. The isolated grey-stoned house appeared to be empty. Everywhere around it was overgrown and wild. She hammered the oak-paneled front door with the tip of her boot and then waited. S...