A POUND OF FLESH

AND MARTHA IS WHERE IT BEGINS

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AND MARTHA IS WHERE IT BEGINS

1

Martha had to pee. Again. She wasn't sure if it had to do with the alcohol she had consumed or the bladder infection. Not that the cause was of any importance.

The crisp night air bites at her flesh. Martha does not even make an attempt to warm herself - there is not much of a point as she adorns a strapless mini dress. The pain in her feet help to take her mind off the cold. Her heels blister as the cheap shoes rub against them with every step that she takes, slowing her gait to a quick paced shuffle. Bandages would go a long way right now, yet where would she keep them? She had learned previously that carrying a purse or a clutch made you an easy target. Now what was left of the money she had made this evening was tucked inside the toe end of her shoes - an item of clothing that she rarely removed in her line of work. It was a dismal amount, yet better than nothing.

"I am getting too old for this." She was feeling bad for herself.

The career path she had stumbled upon had initially started as a means to an end. A childhood she drank to forget, family who wanted nothing to do with her - which at the time had suited her just fine. There were two things that she had been told she was good at: drinking and sex. Unfortunately, drinking did not draw revenue, but sex did. If Martha was being true to herself, when she started out she had enjoyed herself. When she was younger, the guys were better looking, the price was higher and she could handle the late nights with ease. Now it felt like every day was a struggle just to get herself out of bed.

The customers were getting worse - the things they wanted for what they were willing to pay. She shudders a little bit and pushes the thoughts out of her mind.

A car pulls over stopping roughly three feet in front of her. The engine idles loudly on the dark colored vehicle. The windows were tinted to match the exterior, and the only color she could make out against the evening air was the glow of the red brake lights.

Making a few quick adjustments to her attire, Martha plasters what she feels to be her most seductive smile and saunters over to the sedan, careful not to wobble as she walks. The passenger side window buzzes as it makes it slow decent. She leans against the car for support, letting the warm air escaping from the interior caress the exposed flesh of her face and neck. Within the vehicle, all she can make out is the florescent glow from the dashboard. The radio plays a song, one she does not recognize quietly, in the background. The driver sits stiffly in his seat, staring out into the darkness before him, his gloved hands gripping the steering wheel at three and nine.

"Need a lift?" Even as her eyes adjust to the light she cannot make out the driver other then a silhouette, but she can tell from his voice that he is younger.

"Depends on where you are headed," she purrs. Her vision swims before her. She takes a few deep breathes, closes her eyes and waits for the world to return to it's right position. Her head feels a little fuzzy but she figures she could handle one last "client" and maybe, it would work out, that she could take tomorrow night off.

Before he can even tell her where he is going, she swings the door open and climbs in.

***

"How much is it again?" His voice is low and shaky as he asks the question.

She runs her fingers through his short, well kept hair and wraps a few strands between them, "because you are so cute, let's say $150 and I'll let you do whatever you like." Her words come out syrupy and slurred.

There are no street lights in the corner of the parking lot where he has chosen to park the vehicle. The only illumination coming from the small icons on the dashboard. Martha can barely make out his face as he stares down, fidgeting with the seat belt. It was almost endearing. She studies the outline of his strong jawbone, the perfect slope of his nose and the pout of his lips as they move subtly from some internal conversation he is having.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay in the car or get a room?"

They had driven around for some time after he had picked her up, seemingly aimlessly. As Martha started to fear that he was losing his nerve and she was losing a pay cheque, he brought up his 'desire' to complete their transaction under the night sky. Even though it was cool, Martha was secretly relieved that he hadn't want to do it in the car. It did not have a lot of room to move around and at her age, she did not like getting stuck in tight spaces. Her body was not as flexible or forgiving as it used to be.

"Ah ya, I don't want to leave any evidence behind...my wife would kill me."

"Don't worry, I will take the edge off it for you," Martha smiles and gets out of the car, taking his hand and walks him over to a secluded area behind a tree. "Ain't no one going to bother us here." She carefully positions herself down on her knees and works her fingers towards his belt buckle. The belt is new enough that it still has a leather smell to it and on trend. A quick glance at his shoes and she knows that they are much finer than her discount pair. Martha furrows her brow thinking she could have asked for more -and wondering why he would choose her given everything she had come to observe.

"Good. I have never done this before," and the nervousness in his voice is replaced with an anger.

He grasps her wrist tightly and pushes her hand away from his waist.

"What the..." Martha barely makes the words audible when he uses his nearly new shoes against her shoulder as she tries to get up, causing her to fall hard backwards against the ground. The fall knocks the wind from her chest, distorting her vision momentarily. Finding her voice she tries to scream but is stifled by a gloved hand, biting all she gets is leather. Swiftly he lowers himself upon her and holds her head down tight to the right, and with his knees he pins her arms down by her side.

From all her painful and awful experiences over the years, Martha knew what these kinds of people were capable of. Violence, robbery, and rape all being events she had experienced on more then one occasion. If she had been younger, in better shape, or even sober perhaps she would have done more. Previous experience had taught her that fighting usually only made it worse and now with the weight of his being pressing down on her, she knew it would not do any good. At least the alcohol would numb the experience.

"Please god, let it be fast." Martha realizes the irony of her praying to something she does not believe in.

A dull throbbing sensation pulls Martha back to the moment that she has tried to escape inside her mind to avoid. She can feel a pool of wetness spread across her skin as the throbbing grows in intensity and the pain begins to overtake her. Panic sets in as Martha watches her attacker come at her again and again. She struggles against his sure weight to no avail. Tears stream from her eyes as she begins to tremble and shake, her body now aflame in agony. Her vision goes spotty as her lungs fill with blood. She can hear herself making a gurgling noise as she tries to breathe. Her last thoughts are of her two sons.

The disemboweling continues as Martha is dragged into death.

A/N: Poor Martha. Thank you to everyone who has started to read A Pound of Flesh. I do hope that you continue on this little story. Let me know what you think - comments and criticism welcome. This is my third edit of this chapter. I have taken everyone's suggestions into account to develop a more well rounded idea of Martha.