Help Wanted **DISCONTINUED**

Escape

Great. Stuck in a broken freezer again.

I'm sure you're wondering what I'm doing in a broken freezer in the bottom of my basement. Well, let me tell you my back story.
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Hi. I'm Sloane Ophelia Berrow. I know, hell of a name, right? I was born on January 1, 2004.

I was born into a family of drunks and workaholics.

My mother works in a big office firm, where she spends about ninety percent of her time. She wakes up at the crack of dawn and goes to work around 4, and comes home around 9 PM everyday.

My father is a "stay at home" parent. My mom believes that it helps me to stay connected to my family if I'm around one of my parents practically every minute of everyday. Oh, I'm connected, alright.

My father drinks regularly, his first drink being consumed around 10 AM. This action is followed by several shots of straight tequila, as well as many cans of beer and a full bottle of wine, to "take the edge off".

His drinking habits sicken me, but I try to stay silent. I'm never willing to repeat what happened last time I spoke to him about it.

I won't go into great detail, but, let me just tell you this: I still have burn marks on my back from the steaming hot fire poker that swatted my skin.

Even if I don't speak to him, he always finds something for me to be punished for. Most of the time I just get smacked or punched, which isn't that bad compared to other consequences.

Besides the fact that I don't dare to talk to him, or even look at him in the eyes, I'm not allowed outside.

I've only been outside a few times, and that was when we met new neighbors or something important happened, making us go outside. I haven't seen sunshine besides from a computer screen in months. My schooling was all done online; thank god I had a laptop. Yes, I could escape, and yes, I could live somewhere that isn't a hell-hole, but I'm not willing to accept the punishment for it.

Earlier today, I came downstairs to get some clothes from the laundry room. I tried to stay quiet, hoping my father was already passed out.

I quickly scurried into the laundry room and picked up my basket of clothes. Sadly, the garage is right across from that room, and that's where my father's beer containers are.

"What're you doing, brat?!" he yelled, stumbling towards me.

"I'm just getting my laundry." I said in a hushed voice. I looked towards my old platform converse and watched as his feet came into my peripheral view.

He groaned. He began to walk backwards when he tripped over his own feet and fell. My reaction, unfortunately, was laughter.

Anger rushed over him as he struggled to get up. He finally did, and pulled me by my hair down the hall.

"Let me go! Now!" I squealed, pain rushing through me. I screamed as loud as my lungs could allow me. He ignored me, trudging towards the basement door. As he pulled me, a glass vase fell from the shelf in the kitchen, smashing to the floor. Then some cups, as well as some plates fell. The bizarre thing is, when I stopped screaming, things stopped falling.

"Stupid cat." my father muttered under his breath, opening the door to the basement.

I screamed again as he threw me down the stairs. He stumbled down himself and continued to pull me into the dark room.

He finally let go of me. I could hear the clanging of chains and the creek of a heavy door opening. Footsteps came towards me as I finally figured out where he would be putting me.

He picked me up and shoved me into a cold, steel box. I've been in here before, but it's been ages. He slammed the door shut and began wrapping the chains around the case, locking me inside.

The click of a padlock and the slam of the basement door were the last things I heard. As soon as I knew I was alone, sharp pain began to flow from my arm.

I landed on my arm when I fell down the stairs, and I couldn't move it at all. Just peachy; stuck in a dark freezer with a sprained, if not broken, arm.
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This is where I am now. Alone in a cold, metal freezer. Darkness blankets around me as my arm pains get worse. I kick at the door, and a creek could be heard from the hinges. The door opens a tiny bit, letting a little crack of the room peek in.

He's drunk. He probably didn't even wrap the chain tight enough. I can escape.

I kicked the door again, and it opened just a little bit more. I kicked and kicked until the gap was big enough for me to exit.

I slid my way slowly from the giant box into the mostly empty room. A miniature ray of sunshine shown through the covered window above several old storage boxes.

I looked back at the fridge to see the chain in a heap on the ground. But, the chain was completely broken. Almost all of the links were busted in two, and the padlock was completely smashed into billions of tiny shards.

It was definitely odd, but I wasn't the weirdest thing I've ever seen. Weird things have always happened to me. When I was mad, things would randomly fall off of cabinets and shelves. When I was sad, creeks and shutters could be heard from the walls, and great winds would pick up and swirl around me. I always just shrugged it off though. There is nothing special about me. Nothing.

I carefully climbed up the boxes to the window, my right hand clutching my throbbing left arm. I pulled the tarp covering the window off. The sunshine was overwhelming, but satisfying at the same time.

I unlocked the window and slowly lifted it up, the crisp morning air hitting my skin. I got goosebumps as I stuck my arms out of the window and held onto the grass, pulling myself out. I got about halfway out when I heard the basement door open. Oh great.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" the drunk yelled as he ran down the stairs. After about two steps, he slipped and fell the rest of the way.

I quickly turned back towards the window and continued to pull myself up, my arm pain getting worse as I put more pressure on it. I finally got completely out from the basement. The only things left inside were my feet, which were dangling over the edge of the window.

I screamed as a big, sticky hand wrapped around my ankle, yanking me back inside.

"Get in here, you little twit!" he yelled, pulling harder.

"No! No!" I repeatedly replied. I finally slipped my foot from his hand and pulled it out from the window.

I quickly got up and began to run down the street. It felt like I was going at rapid speeds, but I knew it was only the adrenaline pumping in my veins.

As I ran, I tried to remember if there was anyone I could go to for help. That's when I remembered our neighbors. They have kids, so surely they'll know what to do when something like this happens.

I spot their house and run up to their porch, my hand still clutching my other arm. I knock on the door frantically and look behind me, making sure my drunken parent didn't follow me.

After a few moments, the door opens. There stands the man of their house. He's especially tall, even for someone like me, who's 5'7" at age 14. He has a scruffy yet tame beard, and his hair goes up to a some-what point, having to be at least two-inches tall.

He looks at me up and down, processing the fact that he's seeing a very thin, very tall for my age, very beaten girl. He looks at me closer and finally recognizes me.

"Sloane?" His firm yet gentle voice hits my ears like a symphony. I lift my head up to look in his eyes. His green sparklers stare back into mine, making me feel self conscious about my appearance.

My breathing slowed down as I finally caught my breath. "Hey, Mr. McLaughlin. Do you mind if I come in?"