Outside, the clouds finally broke. They'd hung over the school all day, like lumpy, oppressive gruel in the sky. The rain beat heavily on the classroom windows, sliding down in wide, slow waves. Inside, Sarah watched a few nursery kids run round in circles screaming, enjoying getting soaked through until a teacher came and shooed their sodden forms inside.

It was nice inside. The low and steady voice of Mr Dickson (it was incredible how the man had remained in the teaching profession and indeed sane for so long with that name), as he recited passages from Shakespeare, combined with the soft drumming of the rain and the wind on the windowpane beneath her cheek was pleasant background noise. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for such a cheap ass school such as this one, and it seemed that they had finally fired enough staff to afford to put the heating on for once. Hot air flowed gently over her face and through her long blonde hair from the radiator below. She sighed and leant back, the plastic creaking under her.

"What did I just say, Sarah?"

The pleasant atmosphere dissolved away as she jerked up, grinning foolishly.

"W-w- what?"

Mr Dickson was now stood before her desk, smiling. She watched as the nasty, little button eyes glimmered with malice. A little red sliver flicked out and moistened lips with glee. Then he sighed rather theatrically.

" Not paying attention again, eh?" His smile became a sneer. "Another detention again, maybe, hmmm?" He paused, apparently to savouring the moment.

Sarah opened her mouth to object but nothing came out. She already knew the response.

"Hmmm? You were going to say something?" He paused again to sneer directly into her face. "Its not your 'poor' back again is it? No broken collarbone? Hmmm?"

Then the sneer fell, withdrawing back into its hidey-hole of evil emotions hidden beneath the rolls of fat that ran down his face, and was replayed by a look of disgusted contempt. He turned on his heel and paced back to the front of the class, where he began to read again. If this had been had film, he would have worn a black cloak, and it would've swirled about him evilly. As it were, he just wore old, faded teacher clothes.

She gave it a few minutes before she returned to her happy doze.

Eventually the bell rang. There was a rush as everyone began to stuff papers and books into bags and rush for the door. Mr Dickson began to yell orders over the noise, homeworks, reminders of detentions and the school trip. There was a chorus of grumbles and dirty looks.

And then, as Sarah flipped her bag onto her back, something went wrong. Her back arched suddenly, pain shooting through it, and began to swell. Red-hot fluid was pouring in between her shoulders and all down her spine and forcing out the skin at an alarming rate. She yelled out in fear and pain and fell to the floor. The swelling pushed upwards, outwards, growing so big that it pushed her head down onto her chest. The bag straps stretched and snapped.

People had begun to notice; she could hear them screaming, though could see nothing but the floor. She heard someone yelling- a woman, pushing her way through the terrified, enthralled crowd- then a hand on her shoulder, just as the pain reached its climax. She screamed and her back was torn open. Her head, released as the swell burst, snapped back and into loose flaps of skin and blood. The classroom was turned red, as her insides were painted across the walls, the desks, the people.

And she fainted, knowing that she was going to die.