this is my gal Scarlet when she was a young thing She was the daughter of the local butcher.
Scarlet spent most of her time kicking peoples (her school mates as well as their fathers) behinds, this gave her a rather large reputation for being the best street fighter the small town had seen in years.
One day when her dad was drinking a bit more than he should have he heard the man next to him say something along the lines of how Scarlet is more than likely capable of beating him to a pulp.
The butcher, being the vain and rather violent man he was went home enraged. Upon reaching Scarlets and his house he went inside and crept into her room. The plan he had formed in his drunken mind was to choke Scarlett while she slept, so that she would be incapable of waking once more.
As his hands closed around her fragile neck she woke and struggled from his grasp and fled to the kitchen. In a drunken rage the butcher followed her, so that when he entered the kitchen he had her cornered.
Scarlet, though frightened by the family member she loved so dearly, was not prepared to allow herself to be killed by him. Something she had learned from getting into so many life threatening fights was that she should use any object in arms reach to some sort of advantage.
Using her hands to find something in the dark space her fingers found the hilt of her fathers favorite butcher knife. Grasping this she saw that the dark shape that was her father was coming closer and so after taking a deep breath she stood up. The butcher saw the outline of his daughter and grinned, thinking simply about what that man would say to him when he realized it was him who killed the fighting girl and not her who beat him to pieces. Smiling still he lunged at his only child, hoping to tackle her to the ground and crush her wind pipe.
Scarlet, seeing the bulky figure's lunge, stretched the hand holding the knife away from her body and calmly sliced the blade into her fathers fat neck.
Once the deed was done she let the murder weapon fall to the ground, then silently walked back into her bedroom and crawled beneath the bedsheets. She did not do this to to sleep but to escape to horror that awaited the police in the morning.
She decided then and there that as much as she hated herself for it, she enjoyed the experience of killing. And so she went into her dads room and put on the only thing she had of her departed mother, a plain slitted dress. And then went back to the scene of her crime and picked up her fathers favorite butcher knife. She left that night and never looked back.
This is how the serial killer Butcher Girl was born.