I think before I post this little bit of creative writing I need to make a disclaimer. This piece is violent. Not graphically violent, but there is definite implied violence there. So you have been warned. I have more to say after you have read it.

..........

He stood on the other side of the room trying to keep still. He wanted to savour this moment of anticipation, wanted to revel in it, but found that he couldn't. He was so eager to get on with it that he shifted from foot to foot in a crazed mini dance. He was almost jogging on the spot.

He could see her, lying there so peacefully. She was fast asleep in her little perfect world. She thought nothing could touch her. How very wrong she was. He was going to touch her in ways she had never even imagined. No one had imagined the things he was capable of. He hated her and he didn't quite know why. He had never even spoken to her.

He knew all about her, where she shopped, what food she liked, what brand of underwear she preferred. He knew she was married, had no children yet and didn't really work. She liked to spend money instead of making it. He had been following her for over two months, ever since he had first seen her. She had looked so happy, so bubbly and buoyant that he found himself drawn to her. He couldn't seem to stop following her, no matter how many times he had tried, he always wound up following her again. He thought maybe it was her happiness. She reeked with happiness. She smiled all the time. It was like she had a secret she was keeping from the rest of the world.

She was smart, he knew that from watching her interact with other people, she was witty and she had a habit of making other people laugh. She made people feel good. They always smiled around her. It made him angry that they could feel her happiness. He wanted to take it from her and keep it all for himself. He wanted to feel good too.

And here she was sleeping in her perfect bed in her perfect house, her perfect husband away on a perfect business trip to earn more perfect money to make their perfect lives more perfect. He hated the perfection, the squeaky clean uncomplicatedness of her life. He wanted to destroy it. It made him want to rip and tear, to cut it up into little pieces. He wanted to show her there was madness in the world, that nothing was perfect. She had it all wrong. He was here to teach her that there was much more dirtiness in life.

He moved on her quickly, punching her before she came awake. She grunted and then fell silent, unconscious. He was that good at doing this now. He took her hands and tied them to the bed, spread apart. There would be no need to turn her over for what he wanted to do. He thought about tying her legs. They looked powerful, the muscles toned. He knew she walked often and could possibly use them against him, but he dismissed the thought because he would not be able to position her with her legs bound. He still needed some freedom for everything he wanted. Besides, if she kicked him, he would punish her some more. Extra punishment would be fun, for him.

When she was bound he studied her a moment, then he slapped her playfully on the cheek, again and again until she started to come round. She moaned and opened her eyes slowly, trying to focus through the aching of her bruised brain. She tried to move her hands and seemed confused when they did not obey. She looked around and saw him standing beside her bed. Her eyes narrowed and sharpened, her senses coming together quickly now. Danger is a powerful stimulant.

She didn't speak or scream, even though he had not gagged her. He had no need to. Her perfect house was in the middle of nowhere, miles and perfect miles from anyone that could hear. She just pulled at the ropes that tied her hands and manoeuvred her body slightly up the bed. Even with all her weight the bindings stayed strong. He watched her testing them and was satisfied that they would hold. She still stared at him, almost as if she was hoping he was a dream. He watched the emotions flash across her eyes, confusion, realisation, fear, then anger. Oh yes, he could see she was angry at him. He picked up the knife from the bedside table and held it up for her to see. Suddenly it was fear in her eyes again. He liked that. She should be afraid of him.

"You are beautiful." He whispered. "So beautiful. Perfect. Just perfect." He tilted his head to the side as he stared down at her. "Tonight I am going to teach you how to be alive." He lowered the knife to her stomach. She felt the cold of the blade and she drew in her breath. He smiled patiently. "Birth is a painful thing. Please don't be afraid to scream." He took the knife lower.

The nightmare began.

She was still alive when her husband found her. She had heard a door shut somewhere in the haze of pain and dreams. She watched him come into their bedroom. Somewhere inside her she realised that help had finally arrived but it brought no joy. She was too far gone to care.

He screamed when he saw her, screamed just like a little girl. He screamed almost as loud as she had and as she watched he fell to his knees on the floor.

Coward, she thought. Fucking useless coward. Don't just fucking lay there. Help me. I am the one hurting. I am the one he hurt while you were off fucking your secretary on your business trip.

She knew of his infidelity, and he knew that she knew. Both of them were just too stubborn and too comfortable to throw in the towel. They had gone on pretending that they were still in love for so long now that neither of them was certain when the pretending had begun. Perhaps it had always been that way.

Get up you fucking coward. She wanted to scream at him so badly. Get up and fucking help me. But she didn't have the strength. She felt herself drifting back into unconsciousness.

She hoped she would not wake up again.

..........

I am not sure where this story came from. I was just standing in the shower the other night and I suddenly saw a man standing at the end of a bed staring down at a pretty young blonde woman who was sleeping naked on the bed. The man didn't belong there. I knew that as soon as I saw him and I also knew he shouldn't be looking at her like that. I sat down with that on my mind and out spilled this. The first draft was very rushed, when reading over it, it seemed as though I hadn't taken a breath. I slept on it and when I woke I found the words to flesh it out and slow it down just a little. All up I probably spent maybe 40 minutes on it. Sometimes it happens like that. Other times I can spend three hours sitting here and write no more than two words.

Mac didn't like this story, not really. He wanted it to take a different direction to what I took with it. He thinks it is well enough for what it is, but He wanted the girl to lust what was being done (whatever it was). He wanted her to open her legs and pull the man to her and for everyone to be unsure if this was her fantasy or her reality. I just wanted her to hurt. I don't know why I wanted her to hurt, a little self-loathing, maybe? God knows I am capable of it.

I asked Mac to help me with the punctuation of her thoughts at the end. Mac told me to leave it as it is. He said that he liked the way it read without any more punctuation than is there. So it's His fault if it is all wrong. Oh and Mac is also responsible for the word stimulant. I didn't want to change the sentence, but couldn't find a word to fit it. With very little clue from me about what I was doing, Mac came up with stimulant. He claims it is the most brilliant part of the whole piece.

So there it is, another trip into the deep dark recesses of Sarah's deep dark mind.

With a mind that has thoughts like this, maybe you can all see why I don't like to sleep alone.