Jasmine was oblivious to the world around her. She walked about in a blank state, doing everything normally, without realization. Like a zombie she lived. Everything around her went unnoticed, as did she. Nothing mattered anymore, and she tried to forget.
Nothing worked. The pain was barable, but this numb oppression was taring her apart. Despite attempts to sooth things between herself and Morgan was just lost effort. Morgan ignored Jasmine, and Jasmine finally hurt. Her one close friend at the school was gone.
A week later Jasmine had not yet dared to speak to an adult. She had already decided she wouldn’t tell them about her cutting herself, and that if Morgan was going to tell them, let her. She would fake it, she would lye, and she would somehow survive, but she would not surrender.
Jasmine was walking out from the chaple, her feet slow and her body wieghted when he blocked her way. Mr. Ratt, a slightly hunched samll-figured man stood in front of her path. Jasmine was forced to put forth the aunsomble of propper manners by looking up and smiling.
“Jasmine, I would like to see you in my office later this afternoon.” His voice was quiet, almost desturbingly so, but had the apparent tone of one giving orders, and demanding response. Being the Dean of Students she had to say something.
“Yes sir. At what time would be good for me to arrive?” Her voice was soft and timid, fear had sucked the life from her limbs and it was all she could do to stand and speak.
“Around 3:15, and if I am not there wait in the lobby.” He tried to dismiss her with the wave of his hand but she spoke out of turn before he could finish the action.
“Would you like me to tell the dance teacher that I will not be attending practice today?” He smiled, showing his aggitation at being kept past prime of what he considered a well to do meeting, into a dragging one.
“Yes Jasmine, thank you.” He turned on heel and walked away down the hill. She was left there standing, her hair rustling in the wind, and her body shaking. Making her way across campus she could slowly feel her mind’s edges pulling, and smearing. Everything was disappearing, even common sense.
Later that afternoon, after the passing of classes she sat in her room. The small light shinning on her left wrist, a bottle of liquid makeup in her right hand, and powder in her left. Jasmine streaked the cover up over her wrists, where the puffy red lines stood out. After five minutes of messing around with the make up she had actually given the optical illusion that she had nothing on her wrists. Pleased with herself, she walked down to speak with her dance teacher before practice.
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Trying to
ohh now wheres the rest of it?
quite good.
Ack, it was around mindnight when I sent this, and I forgot to erase the last part. My school shuts down the internet really soon after 12:00, so I just was trying to make sure the story was sent in. Sorry shimmer, and thanks.
-Elizabeth