There are some things Sara knows.
She knows there is nothing left for her in this cold dark world. Her father is dead, Michael is in custody, and she has relentless killers after her.
Sara sits exhausted and alone in a cold damp ally and asks herself what she doesn't know.
The answer to this question is much too vast to ponder on a mere three hours of broken sleep, so she casts it away to rest alongside her broken dreams.
Sara has no one and nothing. She doesn't know where or when her next meal will come, or if she will even miss it when it doesn't pass through the gates of her dry parched lips.
Sara has been living on the streets and her hair is matted and dirty, her clothing torn and stained. She leans her head back and looks up at the star spangled sky and wonders if this is how it will end for her. Will she be sitting in a dark ally trying to steal a few minutes of rest when they come for her? Will she be rummaging through a dumpster looking for an edible scrap when they pounce?
Sara is tired of running and so, so tired of waiting for the axe to fall. What she longs for is a hot bath and a moment of peace before dying. If indeed that is what is in store for her, at least she would go clean and well rested.
Sara laughs softly at the thought, the sound strange to her ears after so long without joy or a humorous reason for laughter.
She laughs again and feels herself become a little more unwound as the sound echoes through her head.
Sara thinks once again of Michael and brushes at her ratty hair as if by thinking of him he will somehow instantly appear and run screaming at the sight of her.
What she wouldn't give to see his eyes one more time.
She remembers all of those days in the infirmary and how he would look into her with those eyes, seeing a part of her she had thought to be long dead; killed by an overdose of loneliness and pain.
Sara reaches for her handbag, the one possession she has managed to hold onto and rummages blindly until her fingers brush the sole object she has come so much to depend on.
She wraps her fingers around the object and brings it into the path of the moonlight that filters into the ally.
Sara dumps the small razor into her palm and sucks in her breath as the light hits the blade.
She stares at it much too long before bringing it to flirt with the skin of her bared wrist.
Sara wonders who would miss her if she made that all important slice? Who would cry if her lifeless body was to be found dirty and unkempt?
She has no one and nothing after all.
Sara presses the razor closer and feels it kiss her tender flesh joining the wet caress of tears as they begin to flow down her dirt covered cheeks.
She takes a deep breath as she pulls the razor away from her wrist, and tucks it back into its little box.
She then safely stores it back in her hand bag where it will stay until the next time she feels the need to see its glint in the moonlight.
Sara brushes at her tears and taking another deep breath she climbs to her feet.
She knows how dangerous it is to stay in one place for too long, so she moves her tired feet telling herself that tomorrow she will end it.
Tomorrow she will go home.