by Tyler Cathey

Created on: November 11, 2008   Last Updated: December 01, 2008

The Desperate Butterfly

Jasmine panicked, she took the deepest breaths. She planned and moved about the room like a startled rat. She had planned her death down to microscopic detail. Only certain things were packed, the things she knew would go unnoticed. Money had been saved and set aside for the last month to fund the plan. Jasmine took a last glance around the house to ensure that everything was ready. She was satisfied, and as soon as her car coasted into the river, freedom could be assured. Jasmine placed her hand on the doorknob, and before she could turn it she broke down to the floor and cried. She curled up on the floor with her backpack on, and cried. Faking her own death was a miserable idea, simply ignorant. She could not go through with it. Tears relentlessly poured, gagging Jasmine. She looked over at her little desk and saw the book she never wrote, she cried even harder. Jasmine was the most ambitious type of female, but her ambition had turned to misery.

She thought how stupid her plan was and how childish she was being. Tears were cleaned from the beautiful face, and the plan was aborted. The preparation was flawless, but the execution was non-existent.

Jasmine fell asleep. The door swung open and thudded against the wall. Her hazy eyes peered up at the unwelcomed stranger. When she grew completely coherent she realized that it was only Ned, it was always, only Ned. Her eyes did Ned over, and she wished that a stranger had entered the house and taken her away. Every time those sour eyes greeted Ned, Jasmine grew sick.

Ned greeted her, "Hey Jasmine, what'd you do today?"

"Nothing really, I made some plans but I broke them at the last minute." Jasmine was smart as well as clever. The type of girl that inspired people, and at the same time made people jealous. She was the type that could do anything and succeed. Jasmine had a great sense of humor. She was a special girl who people referred to as "one in a million."

"Well, start dinner please." Ned demanded without meaning the please part of his sentence.

"Sure." Jasmine walked to the kitchen and saw her unfinished painting on the table. A single haunting tear escaped her left eye. The depression was unbearable.

Jasmine's 21st birthday was arguably the worst day of her life, only in competition with the day her dad died. When Jasmine turned 21 years old, she went out with her friends and drank for the first and only time. Beyond wasted, she fell into the wrong arms. She did not remember anything

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