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Prologue: Sarah

Somewhere in Detroit, in the dingy home of a hoarder, a woman sleeps, totally ignorant of the events that are coming to pass. She is so peaceful, her brown hair brushed hastily over her ears, straggling strands left clinging stubbornly to her face. Biting her lip ever so slightly with a relaxed, habitual expression.

The door bangs open.

Sarah jerks awake, knowing immediately what is about to happen, but pretending not to.

"Surrraahhhhhh! Saaaaarraahhhhhh?! I'm hoooommmeee"

in the next room, she can hear his clumsy footfalls.

"Ssaaarrrahhhh"

this time the slurred "sarah"  is punctuated by hacking cough, as if the man speaking had swallowed a shard of glass.

Sarah picks herself carefully off the mattress, making sure the squeak of rusty springs doesn't alert the drunkard in the next room.

"SARAAAH! GET OUT HERE YOU LAZY LITTLE BITCH"

Sarah lets out an involuntary yelp, and "now I've done it" she thinks dejectedly.

"If i stay here, then it'll only be worse when he finds me.."

so, carefully picking her way through the abandoned glasses, soiled laundry and muddied carpet, Sarah opens the door slowly, adopting an expression of drowsy befuddlement, hoping to confuse this drink-sodden excuse for a husband.

"Sarrrrahh!"

"I'm here, ben. " replies sarah, carefully combining a yawn with the word "Ben".

"was just asleep."

"well?"  says ben, foul smelling breath invading the air.

"....well.. What dear?" says Sarah, knowing perfectly well what.

"You know what I want"  ben waits expectantly.

"Please.. Dear.. I just woke up..later.. Please?"

"NO. RIGHT NOW" bellows Ben, not angrily, but with the air of a war general making a victory speech.

"I don't want to" says Sarah, before she could stop herself.

"WHAT?" yells Ben, still at the same volume.

"I said ,  I don't want to"

"WELL YOU ARE GOING TO,WHETHER YOU LIKE IT, OR NOT!" Ben, unbuckles his belt expectantly.

"No" she says, privately screaming in fear, what was she doing!? She knew what was about to happen! How could she have made such a horrible mistake!?

Her thoughts go no further however, because as Ben's mind processed the word "No", he swings his hand across her face, knocking her to the floor.

Sarah doesn't make a sound as she's hit, instead a reckless daring fills her. She gets up, without touching the blossoming bruise on her right cheek.

Seeing her obvious resistance, Ben lumbers towards her, arm pulled back to deliver another blow, but before he can, Sarah has slapped him, as hard and as fast as she could muster.

ben staggers, not quite understanding what has happened, but it's dawning on him, his muddy eyes lose focus and a roar escapes his mouth, running full pelt at Sarah, but being more nimble, she dodges around his massive form, and Ben slams into the kitchen unit. Grunting with pain, Ben snatches up a half finished beer bottle, driving down on the edge of the bench. Glass spills into the ruined carpet, along with drink.

He charges again, and this time, Sarah is not lucky enough.

Ben pins Sarah to the plaster and drives the bottle into Sarah's stomach, once, twice, three times, before dropping it and breathing deeply.

Sarah is stark white and going whiter. She slowly slides down the wall with a horrified look on her face, leaving a stain.

Ben stands back and looks down at her body, a hungry look in his eyes. His dirty fingers clench and unclench. He seems to be working himself up to something. He draws closer, his jaw set, cold sweat trickling down his temple.

Sarah is on the floor, still with that horrified expression, blood pouring from her mouth, mixing with the thick flow from her stomach.

Without warning, Sarah's hand shoots out and grips Ben's ankle.

He lets out a yelp of surprise and fear, there's no way she's alive!

Ben struggles to break her grip, but the longer she holds on, the tighter the force is, until it's like a vice on his leg, cutting off blood flow.

Ben shrieks in pain, but not for his ankle,for the new sensation in his chest, a tearing, ripping, stabbing pain  unlike anything he's felt in his life. He screams again, coughing at a blockage in his throat, which turns out to be a lump of congealed blood and vomit. Spitting, choking, vomiting and reeling in pain, ben falls back, Sarah's hand still clamped on his ankle.

Ben is bleeding heavily from the stomach now, he's slipped out of consciousness and a pool of blood flows from his vast stomach.

He will suffocate before he loses too much blood.

Sarah stands up, visibly shaking, scared out of her mind, but perfectly healthy.

Stepping over the messy puddle of what's left of ben, she flicks the light-switch on and sets about looking for the gasoline.

The only lighter in the house is in Ben's sick-fouled shorts, which she is not looking forward to extracting.

About two hours later, Sarah is pulling on her coat outside the door to the flat. She’s trailed petrol under the door, and all she has to do is drop the lighter.

On her way out of the apartment building, she checks the mail box for her former flat.

Inside is a dark green envelope.