Original subtitles

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes...

Pinky...

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh...

Oh, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Don't worry.

I'll be OK.

I wasn't always this alone.

My childhood was full of people.

Hmm...

Dad used to say that childhood was like being drunk.

Everyone remembers what you did, except you.

But my childhood was sobering, Sylvia.

I remember everything,

right from the start.

I'd always liked feeling caged in,

snug, and protected.

It was a shock to be born premature.

I wasn't fully baked,

and looked like a baby rabbit.

I was named Grace Prudence Pudel.

My twin brother, Gilbert.

The nurse said we had two souls,

but one heart.

Mmm. I liked that.

Our birth was very strenuous for Mum,

and she died.

We left her womb

and she entered her tomb.

Mother snails do the same

after they've had their babies.

Don't they, Sylvia?

As I grew older,

I suffered a smorgasbord of afflictions.

I was always back in hospital for something.

The doctor said I was like a china doll

you could shatter with just a stare.

Eventually, they needed to fix my floppy lip.

Things went bad.

I lost so much blood,

I needed a transfusion.

The doctor asked Gilbert if he'd give me his.

- Huh?

Oh.

He said yes,

even though he thought he'd have to die to save me.

How long before I die?

They quickly explained he wouldn't die.

His body would make new blood.

Oh.

He became everyone's hero that night.

Especially mine.

To cheer me up,

Dad gave me Mum's old jewellery box.

- Ooh!

Inside, it had her snail collection,

and her ring.

She'd loved snails as well,

and had been a malacologist.

I thought Gilbert should have the ring.

Ooh.

I'm going to wear this till the day I die, Gracie.

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I believed in glasses half-full and silver linings.

Gilbert's glass was half-empty, though.

I remember how he was often sad.

It seemed like he had a secret he wanted to tell.

He was like Holden Caulfield, James Dean and Charlie Brown

all rolled into one.

He saw people as a threat.

At school, he was always my warrior, my defender.

Rabbit face, rabbit face,

rabbit face, rabbit face.

- Give me that.

Hey, morons.

Hmm?

Agh!

...able to breed a chicken with a giraffe.

He said that he's able to lay eggs,

- but has a really long pecker.

Our home was our sanctuary,

a place where we felt safe

to read our books and watch our favourite shows.

I loved my bedroom.

It's where everything was just so.

Right angles brought me enormous comfort,

as did my snails, Sylvia.

They were my friends,

so I made more of them.

I knew they'd never leave me,

hurt me.

Or die.

I didn't like people dying.

I wanted to save people.

Save the homeless.

My favourite was James.

One Christmas, I covered him in decorations

so he could feel some Christmas cheer.

He loved his tea.

- Huh?

Ah! Ah.

- Ah...

Good on ya, little possum. Good on ya.

He was once a magistrate,

but was defrocked for masturbating in court.

Back then,

I thought masturbation meant chewing your food thoroughly.

He once told me that

masturbation was the thief of time.

- Ooh! - Huh?

James gave me my first real snail.

Ah!

Your mum, Sylvia.

He told me to put her in a big jar

and feed her Vegemite.

While I was busy trying to save the world,

Gilbert wanted to break free from it.

Free others.

- Huh?

Ugh!

Once, he let our neighbour's cockatoo escape.

Fly, Mildred! Come on, fly!

Bye, Mildred!

Gilbert said Mildred never seemed so happy.

If he wasn't letting animals free,

he was rescuing them.

He didn't care about the dangers.

I'll save it, Gracie!

- Gilbert! - Ah!

Come on, fella!

- Agh!

Over here, Gracie!

Gilbert loved animals so much

he became a vegetarian.

Aww! Now she's got a boyfriend.

Look, Gracie, they're hugging.

Ugh...

Eggs, wow!

We'd created our own little family.

They hatched, Gracie! Babies!

You became my favourite, Sylvia.

Your swirl went opposite to the others.

Gilbert named you after Mum's favourite author.

But the thing that made Gilbert really unique

was his love of fire.

He wanted to eat it.

He'd spend hours playing with fire.

I remember how he always smelt like burnt matches.

At school, the girls swooned.

He was the flame, they were the moths.

But he was more interested in reading, and magic.

I think he just wanted to disappear.

And spend all his pocket money at Bert's.

Bert was the type of person

parents told you to avoid, Sylvia.

Someone who might offer you boiled lollies.

Ooh.

Bert seemed anything but magical.

Gilbert's dream was

to be a street performer in Paris.

- Look, Gracie!

He was always practising.

Oh, shit!

- Ow, ow, ow!

And often burnt himself.

We got little scars from the sparks.

And when we put our arms together,

they formed a face.

Oh, look, Gracie!

It felt great when we did this.

Our feelings aligned.

A lot of twins say this, Sylvia,

and it's true.

I felt his emotions,

his happiness and his sadness.

Which seemed to be

the fourth member of our family.

- Mum's death had left a hole.

Dad had tried to fill the void,

but... he had his own problems.

Dad was French,

and had once been an animator in Paris.

He made stop-motion films

with an old Bolex camera.

He showed them to us sometimes.

To pay for his art form,

he busked on the streets.

Bonjour, messieurs dames,

Je suis l'incroyable Percy Pudel.

Mum met him on a holiday

she'd won in the Woman's Weekly magazine.

Hep-ah!

- Oh!

Et voila, messieurs dames.

Ohh...

Wow!

Bonjour, mademoiselle d'escargot.

Ooh! Ooh, la, la!

They fell in love,

and he followed her back to Australia.

Bonjour! Je suis l'incroyable Percy Pudel.

Wanker!

- Hey, w... Watch out!

- Agh!

Mum had only just got pregnant

when his career was cut short by a drunk driver.

He never juggled again, and became a paraplegic.

Then, slowly,

an alcoholic,

just like the guy who'd hit him.

Money had always been a problem.

Much worse since his accident.

His pension barely paid for his wheelchair batteries.

Winning Scratchies

was the only thing that brought him hope.

We found them everywhere.

To make matters worse,

he developed sleep apnoea.

Huh?

We'd have to clap to wake him up.

Despite our hardships,

our little family unit was strong.

And there was plenty of joy.

Ready!

Our happiest day was when we went on the Big Dipper.

It was scary.

Scary because it was 100 years old.

Wah!

Dad felt alive,

escaped his body.

When he died,

he said he wanted his ashes sprinkled off the Big Dipper.

The day got even better on the way home

when Gilbert found a Scratchie on the ground.

We won $20!

So Dad bought 20 more.

Too bad, Dad.

He hated we had to look after him.

I suppose his cage was his body.

His glass wasn't full or empty.

Just... a glass.

Knitting and black jelly beans were his other addictions.

He was the one who knitted my snail hat

and made the eyeballs out of his old juggling balls.

The jelly beans made his tongue all black,

- and his breath...

...aniseedy.

Watch, Gracie.

We arranged them on his head

while he pretended to be asleep.

He let us do stuff like that.

We were free to do what we wanted, Sylvia.

Ah!

He said childhood was life's best season.

It never lasts, but everyone deserves one.

Oh, mon fils!

Bravo, Gilbert!

He was so proud Gilbert wanted to be a performer,

follow in his footsteps.

Ah... Ohh!

Bravo!

That night, we got out mum's jewellery box

and sang our heads off.

# ...gentille alouette

# Et la tete! Et la tete!

- Hah. Good one, Dad.

Later, dad got out his old Bolex camera

and gave me some tips on how to animate.

I wanted to become an animator, just like him.

To top the day off, we had a competition

to see who could create the best hairdo.

I won.

I remember the stillness that night...

...the wonderful memories of that day,

fresh in our heads.

A day so precious...

...but fleeting.

Huh?

Despite our clapping...

...this time,

Dad never woke.

We couldn't afford a proper funeral,

so Dad was cremated by the government,

his ashes given to us in a cardboard box.

I sprinkled him into his jellybean jar.

He would have liked that.

Child services came to take us away.

Come on, you two. Let's go.

And we were to be sent to foster homes

in separate states.

We had no relatives,

and no-one wanted to adopt twins,

especially weird ones like us.

Look after it, Gilbert.

Hurry up. Say your goodbyes.

- Bye, Gracie.

- Bye, Gilbert.

That was the last time I saw my brother.

The last time I smelled his scent of burnt matches.

We never got to sprinkle Dad off the Big Dipper.

Our lives were turned upside down

and back to front, Sylvia.

We had no choice but to move onwards.

Upwards.

Sidewards.

I was sent to live with a childless couple in Canberra,

which had won safest city three years in a row.

Some people even wore helmets driving.

Back then, Canberra wasn't the exciting place it is today.

I suppose 'settled' is the wrong word for how I felt.

'Traumatised' was more accurate.

The separation from Gilbert made me anxious.

But you and your siblings, Sylvia,

you brought me some comfort.

Lovely.

My new foster parents, Ian and Narelle,

were... pleasant enough.

They were accountants

for a company that made traffic lights.

They were well-meaning,

and addicted to self-help books.

- Hm?

- Good morning! - Hey!

They believed a good dose of self-esteem

cured everything.

Every week, they'd make me a new certificate.

Our little baby. Oh, we're so proud!

Now, watch this.

My finger work!

On the weekends, they'd play netball.

Gracie, can you get the ball for us?

They tried to get me to play as well.

Here we go.

Catch it!

Oof!

Oh, no!

Ian! What's happened to her?

- You're right, babe. - Babe?

She's going blue!

Sometimes I faked asthma attacks.

Hey, Narelle, better get the puffer!

I felt bad telling lies,

but sport was one of my allergies.

You alright, babe?

Breathe, pumpkin, breathe!

Their favourite colour was beige.

They even had guinea pigs that were beige.

OK, we're off now, pumpkin.

- See you later. - Bye.

On Saturdays, they went to key parties.

Ready, love?

I'm looking forward to tonight, babe.

They were swingers, Sylvia.

Darryl!

Back then,

I thought swinging meant something else.

My new school was predictably bad.

- Grace Pudel! - Huh?

Stop daydreaming.

I tried to make friends.

But Gilbert wasn't there to break their fingers.

So... Hmm...

I absorbed the abuse,

came home, and played with my clay friends.

I missed Gilbert like crazy.

We wrote each other letters,

and I saved every cent I could to go see him.

He'd been sent to live with a family of fruit farmers

near Perth.

I definitely got the better family, Sylvia.

He hated his.

Dear Gracie,

my new parents, Ruth and Owen, are strange,

and do a weird sort of praying.

They make me pray four times a day.

They said the more I pray,

the more the pain of Dad's death will disappear.

They're really old-fashioned, and don't even have a phone.

We all have to have magnets taped to us.

They reckon it keeps our auras balanced,

protects us from the devil.

Ruth is obsessed with her poor budgies.

I reckon she loves them more than her own kids.

Worship thy apple!

They've built their own church and school.

- Owen is the minister.

Cleanse thy soul!

Cast out thy demons, and worship thy fruit!

Hm?

He's got stomach ulcers,

which he blames on the devil.

My new brothers are all morons.

One of them is always staring.

Worship the baby Jesus!

I have to work in the orchard after school.

The brothers get the better jobs.

Ruth said if I'm going to be a good orchardman,

I'd have to start at the bottom and work my way up.

I'd rather eat glass.

Hmph!

Ugh!

Anyway, they can all get stuffed,

'cause as soon as I'm old enough,

and got money,

I'm coming to get you.

I'll walk across that big, burning desert.

We'll escape to Paris.

I'll become a fire eater.

And you'll become an amazing animator!

It'll be great.

Gilbert's letters gave me hope,

so I tried to get on with life,

squashing my sorrows down into my shoes

as the years dragged on.

To pass time,

I began volunteering at the local library.

One of my jobs was to erase rude drawings done by boys.

Ugh...

That's when I first met Pinky.

I saw her returning books into a rubbish bin.

She thought it was the return chute.

And had been doing it for months.

- Excuse me? - Hm?

Um...

She was mortified when I explained.

Ah, poo.

Don't worry, I won't turn you in.

Oh, thank you, dear.

Bless your cotton socks.

What's your name?

Grace Pudel.

Uh, I'm Pinky.

Just Pinky.

Like Cher.

Or Liberace.

Or Prince.

Casanova!

Popeye.

People call me Pinky 'cause of this.

Lost it dancing in Barcelona.

Agh!

Why are you dressed like an ant?

Oh, um...

No, I'm a snail.

Oh!

Funny.

I used to think I was a pigeon.

She was a true eccentric,

and smelt like ginger and second-hand shops.

Dickhead!

She clothed herself in corduroy,

And her face had more wrinkles than her jacket.

It was hard to know where the fabric ended

and her skin began.

Apart from you, Sylvia,

she was my first real friend.

My only real friend.

She'd lived an amazing life.

I thought one day I might make a film about her.

She'd seen the Northern Lights.

Floated in the Dead Sea.

Been an exotic dancer in a schnitzel bar.

Ha!

Won a bee-beard contest.

Hee! My turn.

Bathed with a snow monkey.

Made love to John Denver...

In a helicopter.

Take me home, country road!

And once...

...played ping pong with Fidel Castro.

She'd never been sick.

Her secret to longevity were coffee enemas

and a daily shot of ginger wine.

She'd outlived two husbands.

The first, Hector,

had died just a week after they got married.

Careful, sweetie.

- Agh!

Bugger.

Her second husband, Bill, had been a postman.

Who wrote love notes on her mail.

Roses are red,

Violets are camp,

I'll be your letter,

You be my stamp.

You are the clouds,

And I am the skies,

Let me shipwreck meself

Between your thighs.

Smile.

Ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille.

They'd just begun a trek across Australia...

Just a little to your left, sweetheart.

...when nature struck.

- Oh! Oh! Oh!

- No!

Bugger.

Careful, kiddies.

She was a real survivor,

and had so many jobs.

Dickhead!

Dickhead!

But they never lasted long.

- You're fired.

On her 80th birthday,

she'd got a job promoting pineapple chunks.

Oh! Oh!

Gosh, she had a great sense of humour.

She drove her dead husband's postal truck

and once told me she wanted to die peacefully in her sleep

like her cousin who was a bus driver.

Not screaming in horror like his passengers.

I'm not sure whether she was joking.

It was hard to know with her.

Her house was fabulous.

It smelt like popcorn and mothballs.

She had an enormous trophy collection,

which I soon discovered were other people's trophies

she'd found at second-hand stores.

There were Post-it notes everywhere.

She had a dreadful memory.

She was terrified of Alzheimer's

and had taken up tap dancing.

She'd read it staved off dementia.

She didn't believe in banks,

and put her savings in an old tin.

She said she kept her secrets in there as well.

You know, Gracie,

biscuit tins rarely contain biscuits.

I'd never seen her mysterious tin.

She was always hiding it in different places,

and often couldn't remember where.

Her home was also full of seedlings,

which she later confessed were marijuana.

She loved to bake ginger hash-people,

because, she said,

they relieved her arthritis.

She also enjoyed gardening,

especially when she felt a bit miserable.

She called it her Pity-Pit.

She wanted her ashes sprinkled in her Pity-Pit,

be returned to nature,

fertilise her veggies.

Gardening fixes everything.

She also enjoyed mini-golf,

and had built her own course.

Ha-ha! Hole in one!

But the thing that made Pinky truly remarkable

was what she did every Monday.

There, there.

She'd visit the lonely, and hold their hands.

She said the thing the elderly craved most

was human touch.

She'd sit with them calmly, in silence.

Something so simple, yet so comforting.

- Hm? - Ah!

An occasional ginger hash-person helped as well.

Pinky told me she'd never got to hold her own parents' hands.

She never said why.

Her childhood was off-limits.

Woo-hoo!

You know,

life isn't about looking backwards, Gracie.

It's about living forwards.

She was the jewel in the Canberra junk heap.

She'd crammed so much into her life,

and I'd crammed nothing.

Pinky's friendship helped ease my sadness,

my feelings of loss.

I suppose SHE was the medicine I needed,

a vitamin for hope.

Bugger.

Better luck next time, Gracie.

The years fluttered past, Sylvia.

Apart from Pinky,

letters from Gilbert were the only things

that confirmed I existed.

I missed Gilbert like crazy.

Ian and Narelle were still obsessed

about my mental health,

and sent me to self-help classes.

Which was supposed to raise my endorphins,

balance my chakra, and cleanse my third eye.

Ready, set, go!

Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ha! Ha!

- Ooh. - Ha!

- Ha! - Hm.

Ah! Oh, Craig!

- Mm! Heal me! Heal me! - I'll heal you, Vicky.

- I'll heal you. - Oh, Craig!

- Oh, Craig! - Oh, Vic.

Part of me died in those classes, Sylvia.

Self-help was just a shallow, quick fix.

None of it actually worked.

I just wanted the earth to stop so I could get off.

Puberty arrived, and brought its gifts.

I'd have loved a boyfriend.

It didn't help matters

when Pinky convinced me to get a perm.

Nice hairdo.

Ha-ha!

Dickhead!

There, there, love.

Ignore him.

I think we look fabulous.

Thank God for Pinky.

She became my real foster parent.

Especially as Ian and Narelle

weren't around much anymore.

They'd discovered nude cruises,

and were gone for weeks at a time.

- Whee! - Good morning.

Oh, hi!

I still grieved the loss of my family,

and continued filling the void with more and more snails.

If I saw something snail-y,

it HAD to be mine.

My obsession had blossomed, Sylvia.

My room had become a snail... shrine.

I'd become a snail hoarder.

Oh, I missed Gilbert so much.

His letters still gave me hope,

but he began to worry me.

I felt he wasn't telling me everything.

Dear Gracie,

life at the Garden of Eden is certainly no Garden of Eden.

Gilbert! Get back to work!

Ruth seems to have it in for me,

but I don't give a stuff.

- Sorry, Ruth. - Ugh!

Oh, and she hates that I call her Ruth instead of Mum.

And she hates that I won't let Owen shave my head.

They make me work really hard for lousy money.

There's no-one here to talk to.

I try to be friendly,

but their weirdo religion has them all brainwashed.

The brothers really hate me.

Poofter.

Owen forces me to read the Bible,

- and Ruth...

...forces me to eat meat.

Hello, piggies.

Eat it!

She's barred me from playing with fire.

She's bonkers, and thinks magic is the devil's vice.

And she's always trying to stick

more and more magnets on me to fix my aura.

But I don't care.

I hide behind the church to practice my stuff,

with one of the brothers,

who... seems to like me.

Ruth reckons Lucifer's trying to invade my soul.

So they tried to baptise me,

to get the devil out!

Dunk thee,

and cleanse thy demons!

Ugh!

I pretended I was possessed.

I hid some of Owen's antacid tablets in my pockets.

- Oh, my! - Ooh...

It was hilarious.

Ben loved it.

Ruth is always trying to control me.

She even tried drugging me.

Eat it.

Hmm.

But I'm not dumb.

I hid the pills in my cheeks.

Ruth says, Jesus's love isn't free.

So, what money we do earn, Gracie,

goes back to Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus.

Pennies for Jesus. Pennies for Jesus.

That's a good boy.

Huh?

Gilbert!

And Jesus then gives his money back to Owen.

Thank you, Jesus.

And his vices.

Oh, Owen, how are you? The usual?

Have a good night.

Pennies for Jesus, and whiskey for Owen.

Hm!

Ah!

They're such hypocrites!

But I made them pay for it.

Run free, guys. Come on! Run!

I hate it here.

No!

- My budgies! - Heh.

And I hate her.

She punished me.

Big time.

Hold him tight.

Sinners must be punished, Gilbert.

Leviticus 24 - an eye for an eye,

a tooth for a tooth.

Burn thy wicked box of pleasures!

She punished me, but it didn't bother me.

I'm fine.

Anyway, I'd better go.

I'm saving my money, and I'll be escaping soon

and crossing that desert to come and get to you.

Hang in there, Gracie.

Everything is OK.

See you soon.

Hopefully.

Love, Gilbert.

Puberty finally finished its cruelty, Sylvia.

The season of our teens ended.

Oh, bubbles!

But life got even lonelier

when Ian and Narelle retired to a nudist colony in Sweden.

It's a shame we never really connected.

What family we did have, though,

was now gone.

Is that your foot?

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I tried to be optimistic,

be more social.

I remember how there were intriguing people

at the library.

But they lived vicariously.

A boyfriend seemed a work of fiction.

I felt invisible, began to fade.

Pinky was the only colour in my life,

still effervescent.

Her hand-holding idea

had become a fully-fledged charity.

She'd even engaged the long-term unemployed

to help out.

We went from home to home...

...hand to hand.

I think, over time, the loss of my family

had somehow... frozen me.

I thought it was safer to just...

live in a pretend world.

Oh, Dad would have been disappointed

I'd resorted to trashy novels.

It was now just me, some sexy pirates,

and a few frisky guinea pigs

who mocked my virginity.

The stereotype was now complete, Sylvia.

I'd become an unloved recluse.

And the guinea pig hair that coated me,

a lonely person's glitter.

As my boredom worsened...

...I found myself having new urges.

I added kleptomania to my list of hobbies.

Buying, hoarding, and now stealing

became a cheap thrill and distraction

from my mundane world...

...which slowly began to collapse.

I lost three guinea pigs that night.

I cremated them in the backyard...

...and put their ashes in little jars.

It looked like I was starting a guinea pig spice rack.

My life had become truly pathetic.

And things had gotten out of control.

I held my own hand patiently,

waiting for Gilbert to come and rescue me,

while I continued to withdraw

into the safety of my snail fortress...

...lonely,

loveless,

and imprisoned.

But just as I was considering joining a nunnery...

...from the mess of my life

came one of those silver linings.

His name was Ken.

And he was obsessed with his leaf blower.

There he stood,

more delicious than a Chicko Roll.

Well, hi.

Could I, uh, maybe, uh...

He wanted to know if he could blow my leaves.

His presence gave me hot flushes

and sweaty knickers.

It was love at first sight.

He was a Canberra Adonis.

A Cadonis.

He was a microwave oven repairman

and told me that he was extremely shallow

and one-dimensional.

He said if he was an onion and you peeled back the layers,

you'd just find more onion.

He had hobbies like me,

and enjoyed repairing broken bowls.

It was a Japanese art form called kintsugi,

based on the philosophy that, just like the soul,

all things can be repaired,

and our cracks celebrated.

Ken said that I was a broken bowl

and that he'd help repair my wounds,

fill up my cracks.

He was so thoughtful and community-minded

he volunteered as a lifeguard at the local pool.

Mmm...

Hello.

He adored me,

and even built a milkshake station in my kitchen.

We dated for a month, and then...

What do you reckon?

Ooh!

He said he really did love me.

Loved my quirks.

We celebrated with another milkshake.

He said he'd make me something special.

Spoonful of that. Hmm, cinnamon!

- No! - What?

Oh! I...

- That's my guinea pig. - Oh!

A normal person would have thought I was bonkers,

keeping those guinea pigs' ashes.

But he didn't.

He loved all of me,

even my bum and wobbly bits.

Yeah. Nice. Oh, yeah!

Oh!

Yeah!

Nice, Gracie.

He moved in,

and I finally lost my virginity.

We were desperate to get pregnant.

But Ken was told he was sterile,

from all those microwave ovens he'd repaired.

Rotten luck.

But I wasn't too disappointed.

I had more than I could ever wish for, Sylvia.

I had a Cadonis,

a herd of guinea pigs,

and a horde of snails.

Say cheese, Gracie!

We set a wedding date,

and sent Gilbert the good news.

Huh?

Oh... Wow!

Hey, Ben, guess what?

Ken gave him money for an airfare to Canberra.

I asked Gilbert to walk me down the aisle.

Pinky would be the flower girl.

We'd finally be a family again.

Finally sprinkle Dad's ashes.

My glass was now brimming,

and there were silver linings galore.

Gilbert would live with us.

He'd be here tomorrow!

I'd never felt so happy, so optimistic.

Delivery.

I'll get it.

Ooh!

Oh, for you, dear.

Dear Grace,

this is Ruth,

Gilbert's foster mother.

It saddens me to tell you

that Gilbert has died in an horrific fire.

Our church burnt down,

and he was unable to escape the flames.

Last week, I found Gilbert and my son Ben...

fornicating.

Lucifer!

I'm sure you will agree our only course of action

was to purge and correct their homosexual sickness

in the correct fashion,

as instructed by... the Lord...

...our saviour.

This was not a simple task.

We could not just pray the gay away.

So the only solution was a dual expulsion

to cast the demons out,

eject the devil from their souls,

and correct their auras.

Out, out, evilness!

Out, out, Satan!

Saaa!

The time has come!

Purge their souls!

Cleanse their sickness.

Gay, away!

Out, gayness!

Purge their souls!

Out, out, Lucifer!

Cast out thy demons,

and shock the gay away!

Ahhhhh!

Enough.

Excellent, excellent.

I am glad to say, for my son, this was a success.

But for your brother...

Agh!

...the devil would not vacate.

And being so full of Satan, well,

Agh!

...he assaulted me.

Lucifer!

Get him.

Look, an angel.

Huh?

Liar!

You Judas!

He's escaping! Catch him.

He then raced to our church

and set it alight!

No!

Gilbert, stop!

He then sacrificed himself,

- as penance for his sins.

We tried to rescue him,

but the inferno was too intense.

The good Lord took his soul.

Let me out!

And Lucifer lost the battle.

Now cleansed, and with the baby Jesus.

We had a memorial for him,

and are confident he is now in a happier place,

with God and the baby Jesus.

Please find enclosed a vessel of your brother's ashes.

I think it best you have them.

Once again, I am sorry to be the bearer of such tragic news.

Gilbert was a good soul,

who, sadly, fell to repugnant persuasions.

We will always pray for him,

as well as you.

Our deepest sympathies, Ruth and Owen Appleby.

Losing a twin is like losing an eye, Sylvia.

You never see the world quite the same way again.

Grief is a nothingness,

leaves a metallic taste in your mouth,

places stones in your stomach.

Tears don't flow.

They're too scared.

I no longer believed in silver linings

or glasses half-full.

My glass was shattered.

I'd lost my mother,

father,

brother.

Luckily, I had Pinky.

Hey, Gracie.

And Ken.

His spoonfuls of love kept me going.

But, weirdly,

my snails seemed like my real family.

Real ones horde together when threatened.

Survival in numbers.

I was emotionally attached to every single one of them.

That's why I couldn't ever, ever throw any of you away.

So I kept buying,

adding,

and stealing.

Eventually...

Excuse me, madam.

I got caught.

The shame was crushing.

And there were consequences.

Oh, Gracie.

And then...

...things got even worse.

Love can be blind.

Huh?

It can hide darkness and horror.

It seemed Ken's onion did have layers.

He didn't love ME.

He loved my FAT!

He had some sort of... fetish.

He didn't want to fix my bowl.

He wanted to fill it, and fill it,

and fill it...

...with lard.

It was one thing for me to create a cage for myself.

Bit of duck, for luck.

It was another for someone else to imprison me.

Nice, Gracie.

I knew he admired my... largeness.

But this was something more.

Oh, yeah! Nice.

He said he'd love me more, the bigger I got,

and now I knew why.

What an idiot I was.

But not for much longer.

- Oh!

Sorry, Gracie.

Pinky moved in and tended to my wounds.

I'd read that snails hibernate

when they needed to repair themselves.

I slept for a week,

and wrestled my demons.

Uhhhh!

I loathed myself.

My hoarding had caused this.

It had kept me poor,

and being poor had kept me from Gilbert.

The money I'd wasted

could have bought a dozen plane tickets to see him, Sylvia.

Now, he was dead.

Gracie.

Got your lunch.

Pinky put me on a strict diet.

And life became slightly bearable.

As I slowly emerged from my darkness,

I began to notice how much Pinky had aged.

I'll never forget the day I discovered

she had the beginnings of dementia,

when I found her attempting

what she thought was a jigsaw of a rooster.

That was just a few months ago, Sylvia.

She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's,

and went downhill quickly.

Pinky, what are you doing?

I'm looking for something.

What?

I don't know.

Hmm...

Roles reversed.

It was my turn to care for her.

Ah, my medicine.

One day, she decided not to get out of bed.

Did I tell you that thing I can't remember?

That thing I was looking for but don't know what it is?

Oh, stupid brain.

Stupid disease.

What's the name of that German guy

whose disease I got?

Uh... Guggenheimers?

Yeah, Guggenheimers.

Relax, Pinky.

It doesn't matter.

Oh, Gracie.

Such a marvellous friend.

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes...

Pinky...

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh...

Oh, Pinky.

Farewell, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Potatoes? Potatoes?

Sylvia... Ugh.

Maybe that's what she wanted her last meal to be?

Goddamn life!

Ugh! Goddamn life.

Such a...

Such a stupid, stupid puzzle!

Damn it!

I'm so alone.

So... So alone.

Rabbit face, rabbit face,

rabbit face, rabbit face...

Nice, Gracie.

- Grace Pudel! - Nice Hairdo!

Come on, you two. Let's go.

I hate it here.

I'll be escaping soon,

and crossing the desert to come and get to you.

It saddens me to tell you

that Gilbert has died in an horrific fire...

...fire, fire, fire, fire...

The potatoes!

The p... The potatoes!

Dear Grace,

if you're reading this, then I'm as dead as a doughnut,

and you've found my biscuit tin

and some things I want you to have.

You've been asleep for days,

and I need to tell you important stuff

before my brain fully rots.

Oh, old age is such a bastard.

Creeps up without you knowing.

One day, you sink your teeth into an apple...

...and they stay.

You go to straighten the wrinkles in your pantyhose,

and then realise you're not wearing any.

Oh.

Anyway, I digress.

My secrets.

Firstly, I'm an orphan,

and was raised in an orphanage,

after the Great War.

It was a terrible place,

where I was kept in a crib day and night.

Never held or hugged.

The only contact,

the little boy next to me.

No, I won't tell you the horrors I remember,

but do want to tell you

what it's like to feel imprisoned,

caged.

It was simply dreadful.

But, in the years since,

I've learnt that the worst cages

are the ones we create for ourselves.

You have created a cage for yourself, Gracie.

Your cage has never been locked...

...but your fears have kept you trapped.

Get rid of those snails!

Set yourself free.

You got rid of that creepy ken.

Now it's time for you to shed your shell.

Purge your hoard.

Start anew.

A bit of self-pity's OK,

but it's time to move on.

There'll be pain,

but that's life.

You have to face it head-on.

Be brave.

Anyway, I want to thank you, Gracie.

You've been terrific.

Not long now till my number's up.

It's time to close my curtains.

For the first time in my life,

I feel older than I look.

And I look like a testicle.

Life's a beautiful tapestry

that needs to be experienced.

It's small pleasures savoured,

like smoking a cigar in the rain.

Or wearing a jumper straight from the dryer.

Enough rambling.

Time for both of us to let go.

Like I've said,

life can only be understood backwards,

but we have to live it forwards.

Snails never go back over their trails,

always moving forwards.

Time for you to leave some glittering snail trails

all over the world.

And remember, never...

never go back.

All rise. Order in the court.

Miss Pudel, your crime is serious.

Theft is theft,

whether it be a diamond or a cucumber.

And if you forgive the fox for stealing your chickens,

well, then, he'll steal your sheep.

However...

I can tell from your face

that you are full of shame and regret.

And true regret is punishment enough.

I know you are a kind person.

As, many years ago, a little girl showed me kindness

when I was at my lowest ebb.

Ah! Ah...

- Ah.

Good on ya, little possum.

Good on ya.

That little girl gave me hope and courage

to start again, and escape my...

...my vices.

Oh!

You may have light fingers, Miss Pudel,

but I know you have a heart of gold,

and have done many good deeds.

I therefore release you from your charges.

Case dismissed.

Ah!

Life had bashed me round a bit,

but the roses smelt better.

And I finally started to become the person I'd always wanted.

I made a film about my life.

It wasn't very good.

But a few people came.

I even had a question and answer session afterwards.

Any... Any questions?

Mm-mm.

Mmm...

Oh, well.

Thanks for coming.

Yes.

I've got one.

Do you believe in magic?

Gilbert?

Yes, it's me.

I... I walked across that desert.

It took me a while to believe Gilbert was alive...

...how he'd escaped the fire...

...and how his ashes were nothing more than...

ashes.

His urn now found a new purpose.

The cycle of life continued.

And your job was done, Sylvia.

We were all finally free of our cages.

And even though our family had shrunk a little...

...we were together again...

...with only one thing left to release.

Gilbert still smelt like burnt matches.

The setting sun tingled our skin,

our two souls...

...and our single heart.