I wrote this as an exercise from an article I saw in a newspaper. This is what it said:

A quiet street turned into a river of blood yesterday when a tanker sprang a leak. More than 2,500 gallons of offal cascaded into the road after a pipe burst as the tanker pumped the blood into a waste tank. Resident Philippa Leavey of Upper Bucklebury, Berkshire, said, “It was like a river of blood coming down the road. “Now the blood has congealed and cleaners are trying to scrub it off the surface. It stinks and it’s horrible.” A Thames Valley Police spokesman said: “The road will be closed for at least 24 hours. I gather that the smell is appalling.”

Jenny’s romance was over. It had lasted three weeks, three wonderful weeks. She had fancied Connor McGuire for months and it had taken a long time for him to notice she even existed. However, he had noticed her and they dated. He was all she ever wanted in a man, big, muscular, tall, and dark with a roughness she found attractive.

Unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same. Oh, he was very nice, very apologetic but she was not the girl for him. He said he hadn’t wanted to upset her.

Upset her? Jenny was devastated. She had wanted to be the most beautiful girl in the world to him. And she just wasn’t.

That was why she was sitting alone at the table of her flat working her way down a bottle of vodka. She’d drunk three quarters of it when she heard an almighty crash. Getting to her feet, and feeling light-headed, she stumbled through to the kitchen. Had a cupboard fallen? No, the kitchen was just as she had left it.

The noise was so unusual she ran the down the stairs, stumbling slightly at the bottom. “Good,” she thought to herself. “I’m drunk, it’ll dull the pain and soon Connor will become a nobody.” She sighed and opened the front door.

The cold air hit her making her feel airy and light. She propped one hand on the wall to hold herself up. As she focused on the road, she saw a river of blood seeping towards her. She closed her eyes for a moment thinking she must be imagining it. When she opened them again, she saw her neighbours running from their houses. Then came the smell and she heaved.

“Bloody hell,” someone nearby yelled just as Jenny needed the vodka again.

The blood pooled round the tyres of parked cars making the sight before her appear like a bloody battle. The shouting and yelling brought Jenny round again. This was no drunken stupor. A large tanker had crashed into a tree. The driver was frantically trying to stop the flow of offal flooding from the ruptured side.

Jenny was drawn out with the rest of her neighbours. Standing in the street, they unable to believe what was they was seeing. Some of them were openly vomiting. She was glad she hadn’t had to face this sober.

The sheepish driver was getting nowhere fast as he looked directly at her. He was covered in blood and guts and looked like he was walking away from a horrific car smash.

It took Jenny a moment to realise why he was looking specifically at her.  It was Connor McGuire and he had never looked so bleeding bad.  She laughed at her own joke before turning round and going inside for some hot, strong, hot coffee.




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