Sabina's Tears

Sabina sits on the ratty, torn sofa trying to bring herself to stand up. She is locked there by the sure knowledge that anything she touches could result in the complete loss of what small stability she has. Even as the widening cracks and spreading mould fill her heart with dread. Agently, slowly, inch by inch approach the mildewed room where her parents lie sleeping. Sabina cannot picture their faces but knows that should they wake to see the state of the place, their anger would be blistering. Once again, the handle at the front door begins to glow red hot, the metal bending and distorting as it melts.

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