Ophelia’s nose and eyes scrunched together, like an enraged lion, as the warning siren shrieked in her ears. Her dirty foot stepped on a half-eaten ice cream.
“Eugh, Yuck!” she said, as her blonde hair blew against her brown freckles. She limped over to a sewer, trying not to get any sticks or leaves stuck to her. She picked up an empty chip bag and scooped up some water to clean her foot.
Ophelia was picking up litter because her heart cried for this town and all the pollution that had overcome it from snobby people’s upturned noses. Suddenly a siren erupted, blaring in everyone’s ears. Screams and cries filled the air, like cigarette smoke. Ophelia had been here ever since she was born, she hated having it turn into somewhat of a madhouse. Paint on ancient houses peeled, as stray dogs roamed the streets.
Ophelia was frightened. I need to find Mama! she thought, as tension rolled down her spine. She darted home. Knocked on the door. No one answered. Ophelia sprinted to the garage to see it open! No car. No movement. Just silence. Did Mama leave me? Why would she do that? as Ophelia wandered down Stanley Parks Street – Stanley’s Dad is really rich, rich enough to own his own street and park- she started to sob.
“Why so sad?” Ophelia suddenly stopped.
“Be a dear and help me out of this slimy, rodent-filled sewer,” Ophelia couldn’t blink. “Who’s there?”
“I wouldn’t advise you to ask again!” he shouted indomitably. Ophelia felt a rush of confidence take over.
Suddenly, a deafening sound filled her ears, a sound so terrible, a sound like a dying lawnmower. The figure in the sewer was cutting the bars! “AAHH!” She shrieked.
“Do you like my chainsaw?” Blood was painted on his butcher’s apron, whilst intestines were leaping out of his pockets.
He vaulted out of the depressed sewer. The butcher was wearing joggers roofed by shower caps with the end of his oversized pant legs scrunched up at the bottom, covering his shoes. His plastic apron protected his ripped dark blue shirt, like a vigilant parent who of which she didn’t have. He was also wearing pilot googles that were planted in his red hair.
Ophelia was sprinting down Jerybmyks Lane, hoping not to get caught, whilst holding on for dear life. The butcher chased after her, chainsaw in one hand, the other hand wearing a blue surgeon’s glove, trying to reach for her dress.
“MAMA! MAMA!” She screamed. “HELP ME!” She knew there was no escape from this lunatic. She needed a plan. Ophelia ran into the woods hiding from the madness.
Suddenly, she heard the faint crunching of leaves.” AAHH!” Ophelia screamed, as the yellow collar of her dress was being pulled, causing her to choke. “Help me! Help me!” Her face started turning blue then purple.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” The butcher said.
Wait a minute, she thought to herself. Ophelia had heard that voice before. Her face had gone back to her usual shade of peach. She couldn’t put her finger on whose voice it was though.
She turned to look at the man. He had taken off his mask “Oh my god,” she whispered.
Her eyes couldn’t hold back the tears as they curved around her pink cheeks, dropped further down than her luscious hair, to the dirt that laid below. She knew then she did have a protective parent.
“Papa!” she called. “Is that really you?” The butcher was her father! “B-b-b-but I thought you were… you know…” she hesitated. “Dead I know,” he said. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the pressure! I was so embarrassed to tell you or your mother, so I just vanished.”
He took a deep breath in and sighed. “Did mum call you?… Better question did you ever call mum?” Ophelia asked. “Let’s not get into that.” “Alright Dad.” Ophelia gave him a hug, as her dad laid a kiss upon her cheek.