After that rainy night, things have never been the same. It was Jasmin's job to build the utopia. Now, she's forced to watch it burn.
Would you stay to watch what would unravel?
Or leave to start something new?


1. Invisable

The halls were crowded with people. Some are pressed up against the lockers, their lovers kissing their necks. I hate it here. The halls are always full, the people here are never kind, the teachers reek of weed or alcohol, the desks are carved in or broken, the food seems to be made of plastic, and the bathroom are always dark or a always have a group of girls that gather in there to smoke. In the corner, a group of boys push a small boy against the lockers. One of the boys punches the poor kid in the stomach. I walk to my locker only to find Zoe standing there. God I hate her. Her red hair falls in perfect curls, green eyes sparkle like emeralds, candy red lips, and freckles are sprinkled perfectly across her face. I don’t hate her because of her beauty, but of her cold heart.

“Well look who it is. Miz deadbeat”

I stay quite. They want me to say something

“What. Cat got your tongue?”

The girls around her laugh.

“Move please”

“Or what?”

She smiled before pushing me. I could feel my face getting hot.

“Awww. She looks like a tomato”

“Don’t touch me”

Her hands came up to push me again. But this time I stood my ground

“Getting tough huh?”

The ear piercing bell rung and students started to pile into their classes.

“See you soon”

Zoe and her group disappeared into the river of people. Someday things will get better.


    The bus ride is just as fun as school. People mocking me behind my back, and I just sit here letting it happen. Looking out the window wishing to jump out. At last my stop. A dusty road that leads to home. Some boys trips me as I walk off the bus, their laughter is still heard when the bus pulls away. In the bushes lays a black mountain bike. I sling my worn flower print book bag over my shoulders and get on the bike. The scenery never ceases to amaze me, the yellow glow of the sun shines through the tree leaves, wild flowers threaten to consume the dirt path, and if you listen you could hear the sound of a faint stream. I breath in, the smell of flowers is comforting, a slight breeze blows my hair. A white house with a run down barn comes into view. Some of the windows are open, and white lace curtains flow out of them. Home.

    I set the bike up against the barn. Gravel crunches under my feet. A worn white wooden fence surrounds the green lawn, mom’s flowers are growing well. Inside the house is quite, the light brown floor boards, coats on hangers, shoes and boots right under the coats, a staircase that leads to the bedrooms are what welcome me. I set my back bag on the floor


“In the kitchen”

I walk down the hallways covered in family photos. I stop in the doorway and watch my mom make her homemade lemonade. The kitchen is nothing special. White counter tops, light brown coverts, a white fridge with alphabet magnets on it, a sink with a faucet the never stops dripping, and a mom and dad’s liquor cabinet.

“How was school?”

“Same old boring school”

“Anything happen?”


She nods

“I need a taste tester. Care to help?”

“You did put sugar in it this time right?”

She laughs a motherly laugh and nods again

“Yes I did put sugar in it this time”

I walk over to her, she lifts the ladle and I take a sip. The lemonade was of course perfect like always. The sweetness could make any day.

“So how is it?”


“Good. Now go wash up and get ready for dinner. Tell your brother too”


I leave the kitchen, the taste of lemonade still in my mouth. The staircase creaked under my feet. Tristan's door is the first one. On the third knock he opens the door. Light brown hair ruffled from a quick nap, his favorite sweats have holes in them, he was wearing no shirt.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“I don’t know. I just got back”

“Oh. well what do you want?”

“Mom said to wash up for dinner”

“What's for dinner. I bet it's good”

“I don’t know but I do know is that it’s gonna be good”

He smiles

“Well get washed up first. I’ll be down in a bit”

“Okay. Make sure to put on a shirt. I could smell you from here”

“Oh har har”


He rolled his eyes before closing the door. Tristan is two years older than me, but acts like a four year old. The bathroom is four doors down. The bathroom is nothing new, an old shower with a white shower curtain, a sink, toilet, a cabinet filled with toiletries, and a mirror I now look at. I pushed back my black hair and put it in a sloppy bun. My eyes are a shade of a very dark blue a bit of eyeliner around them, my skin tone is somewhere around an ivory I think, and my lips are odd I think. The top lip is slightly bigger than the bottom if you look closely enough. I open the mirror and take out a bottle of face wash most of it already gone. I squeeze out a pea size of face wash onto my fingers, a white cream looking substance with blue beads imbedded in the cream. Before applying the cream I turn on the water. Steam slightly rising from the water. I close my eyes and begin to apply the cream. For some reason I find this peaceful. I could hear footsteps outside the door.

“Hurry up grandma. I need to shower”

When the suds go down the drain I grab a towel and dab the wetness off my face.

“Why do you girls care so much about a clean face?”

“So we don’t get pimples bonehead”

“Cant girls just cover them up with. I don’t know makeup?”

“How are you still in school?”


I leave before he could respond. My room is right across from the bathroom. It’s a little cluttered but I like it that way. The walls are painted a light shade of grey, white christmas lights hang around the ceiling, posters, a big window lets the light in, a bed, bookshelf, a huge black fluffy carpet, a black couch that pulls out into a another bed, a mirror, a giant stuffed animal panda bear my father got me from New York, desk, computer and chair, and a guitar. I always loved my room, something about it made me feel safe. It’s weird, I’m weird, everyone's weird. Bla bla bla. I peer through my closet picking out clothes for tonight and later. I start to rip off my clothes, a white shirt and blue jeans. I throw them down and put on a pair of worn light grey sweats and a black T-shirt. I bend down and crawl into the closet. Under the floorboards lays a satchel. In the satchel is a flashlight, a knife, and a camera. I put the satchel back in it’s hiding spot. A spot where no one will ever find it.

“Dinners ready!”

Mom’s voice calls from down stairs.


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