thewritingjasmine

[thewritingjasmine]

Not Andrew

My grandmother wanted me to be a boy. She hated the girl name that my parents chose, and she wanted more than anything to call me “Andrew.” The name my parents chose for me was wrong, and she didn’t want it in our family. She prayed every day for me to be born with a penis. Even though she wanted a granddaughter, one with my name would be unacceptable. My parents wanted a name that sounded beautiful, so they found a book of baby names. Mine was the first one they saw, and that’s the one they wanted. They refused to change it, even if my grandmother hated it. My mother’s name is Amanda, and my grandmother wanted to be able to call us “Mandy and Andy,” something I’m sure I would’ve hated and not wanted if my name had been Andrew. So, my parents let her pray. On the day I was born, my whole family wanted to be present. My aunts and uncles all saw me come into existence over lunch, and my grandmother wanted to see me. She said I was perfect, and, now, some of my earliest memories are of her babysitting me and of wanting to go over to her house. I can still hear her saying it with love. My Grandma LaQuitta did not want me to have my name because it sounded too black, but she didn’t know who Jasmine was and what she wanted.

[thewritingjasmine]

I’ve Sold My Morals For $9/hr

I work at a bookstore, and I don’t read. I wish I did, but I find myself exhausted after a 40-hour work week. I don’t read, and I recommend the books I haven’t read, 40 hours a week, each one more exhausting because the pitch must be ambiguous and believable. I’ve recommended books I haven’t read, but that’s what I’m supposed to do: I must become ambiguous and believable, the perfect salesperson. I am supposed to do this. I wish I didn’t find myself becoming the perfect salesperson, just working at a bookstore.

[thewritingjasmine]

I Hope I’m Prepared to Replace a Tire

I drive down a road filled with potholes every day. I never know which will finally be the one to puncture my tire and leave me stranded on the side of the road. I don’t know, so I laugh and say “My car can take it” after each one. I’m glad when I’m not stranded, but a car can only take so much. “My car can take it,” I laugh, and maybe it can. It has gone through too many potholes, and I am afraid it can’t take anymore. Maybe it can’t. I hope I’ll ask someone for help after it doesn’t take anymore, and, hopefully, we’ll replace a tire. Someone will hopefully help me, and the car will be better for it, a tire replaced, a car ready for more potholes. My car will be better after the tire is punctured because it needs to be ready for more, when every day, I drive down a road filled with potholes.

[thewritingjasmine]

Escape (Not the Pina Colada Song)

I sat in my car alone. The silence was only broken by the occasional tire squealing across the asphalt. The parking lot was full of cars, and I felt almost comfortable, snuggled in between the two SUVs. As I stared through my windshield, past the chrome Honda Accord, my view of the tree on the other side of the lot was slowly being obscured by the light snowfall. Having just shut off my car, I could feel the heat being replaced by the freezing cold. I couldn’t go inside. Not yet. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back. Just a few more minutes. This isn’t a healthy way to deal with your problems. I was losing track of the amount of times I’d sat in this parking lot, trying to avoid interacting with my roommate, having nowhere else to go. Out of my peripheral, in the seat of my car, I saw my phone’s screen light up. As I picked it up, I sighed. I’d been ignoring my phone for too long. Text messages from my mom? Ignore… Snapchat from my roommate? Not now… Emails… Not important… OKCupid? My thumb hovered over the push notification. “Jake messaged you! This could be big!” I tapped on the notification almost instinctively. I always hoped that the notification specifically designed to make me want to use this app was right and that maybe it “could be big.” Pressing the notification lead me to Jake’s profile. Only one picture, strike one. He says the phrase “I’m a good guy, and I’m funny,” strike two. The only person that gets to decide if someone is funny is me. “The three most important things in my life are my car, my family, and God. In that order.” I swiped left on Jake. He’d probably rather have sex with his car than with me. I forget about the message he sent me. Vijay, 22, smoking a cigarette in one of his pictures. Swipe left. Sal, 20, his self-summary is “Young college guy” and nothing else. Wow, I feel like I really got to know him. I swiped left. Ariana, 19, super cute, 93% match. Beautiful ebony skin and bleached blonde hair. We go on our first date. I can tell she feels kind of awkward, but the way she laughs at my jokes tells me she wants to be there. She’s wearing a blue, spaghetti-strap sundress and combat boots. Her hair is cut short, and I can make out each individual curl. We decide to go to a coffee shop on our date, but neither of us order coffee. “You don’t like coffee either?” I laugh, and she smiles in her awkward way, telling me she’s more of an herbal tea kind of girl. I sighed. Why didn’t she just tell me she doesn’t like coffee? I swiped left. James, 23. His only picture is of a jack-o-lantern. Swipe left. Brandon, 20. “Wanna Netflix and Chill? You can probably beat me at Fortnite.” Left. Doug, 21. 94% match. They/Them pronouns. Speaks Spanish. Gorgeous, curly black hair that you only dream about having. One of their pictures showed them with black nail polish, but it’s not in an “I’m still in my emo phase” way, so it’s cute. “When I graduate, I want to move to New York and become an actor.” After a few dates, we start pursuing a relationship. I was convinced it would be nothing serious, but we spend most of our spare time together now. They’ve made a habit of falling asleep in my arms when I try to show them some of my favorite movies and tv shows. It used to be annoying, but now it gets cuter every time it happens. They laugh at all my jokes, even the bad ones, and, if I tell them enough jokes, they’ll kiss me to shut me up. I’ve slowly started falling in love with, not just their personality, but everything about them. The way their curly, black hair falls over their eyes, the freckles that brush their cheeks and bring out their smile, and the sweatshirt they stole from me… They’re perfect. “Too bad I want to move to Boston after I graduate,” I swiped left and placed my phone face-down in my passenger seat. That’s enough. I should just delete that stupid app. I felt the cold that had seeped its way into my car. I looked down at my hands and flexed my fingers. I knew I could only stand to be in there for a little longer. I glanced up at my building to answer a question I already knew. The lights in my dorm room were on; my roommate was home, and she wasn’t asleep yet. Dammit. I picked up my phone again with every intention to respond to my mother. Facebook message? I tapped on the blue circle to read the message, “Hey! I lost my syllabus for HIS262, can you send me the rubric for the paper due tomorrow?” Oh, yeah. I closed the app. We have a paper due tomorrow. I should get on that. I found myself scrolling through my newsfeed. Something political I didn’t want to read tonight. Continue scrolling. A cute dog playing with a balloon. Like. My aunt shared a post: “Real women have meat on their bones and don’t eat salad.” I comment: “All women are ‘real women,’ including, but not limited to: skinny women, trans women, and women who don’t have children.” Throughout the next day, I’m plagued with “You need to lighten up. My post was meant to be light-hearted” and “All you lib-tards take things too seriously” replies. I get a message from my mom, asking me to apologize to my aunt after being so rude. Too much red tape. I continued scrolling, careful to avoid accidentally reacting to the post. My mother shared a video that teaches people how to make “ice cream lasagna.” I’m glad her diet is working. Like. My little sister shared a picture of a Jeep Wrangler with the caption “They say money can’t buy you happiness, but I’d rather be crying in a Jeep Wrangler.” She was trying to be subtle with my parents about her intense need for a Jeep Wrangler on her 16th birthday. Like. A funny video of a cat stepping in water. I instinctively started to tag my roommate. She loves cats. Before I hit send, I saw that her boyfriend had already tagged her in it. Continue scrolling. My sister-in-law posted a picture of my niece. She’s wearing a Princess Belle costume. It’s captioned “She told me she wants to sleep like a princess and yells when I try to take it off. This girl officially has the most expensive pajamas.” Heart react. I started scrolling through the posts absent-mindedly, so fast that I wasn’t even reading them anymore. I glanced at the clock in my dashboard. 10:47pm. When am I going to go inside? I flex my fingers again; I could feel them getting stiff. I could turn on the car again, or I could go upstairs. I put my phone to sleep and stared at my keys. I could drive anywhere. I almost have a full tank. I don’t have to go inside right now. I close my eyes, take one last deep breath, and grab my bag. Walking up the two flights of stairs is agony. Maybe I should exercise more. I grab the doorknob, count to three, and open the door. My roommate and her boyfriend are cuddling on the couch. At least they’re not having sex. When I walk in the room, it’s freezing. They always kept the thermostat 10 degrees colder than necessary because they could keep each other warm. “How was your night?” the way my roommate asks feels like it was pre-recorded, I’d heard it so much lately. “Um, longer than I wanted it to be,” I grab a couple books off my desk, “I have a 7-page paper to write, so I’ll be in the lounge if you need me.” “When’s it due?” the boyfriend chimes in, like he cares. “Noon.” “Why didn’t you do it sooner?” “I haven’t had time.” “Well, I feel like you could’ve budgeted your time better. Then, you wouldn’t be pulling an all-nighter.” I look away from him and grab a notebook from my bed. He had a nasty habit of making me feel inferior or stupid. “Well, that’s not what happened,” I leave the room quickly, trying to avoid conflict. You need those books. “Fuck it,” I exited the car, grabbing my phone and my bag, locking my doors as a walked across the parking lot. After the uncharacteristically short two flights of stairs, I stopped at my doormat. I stared at my door, at the rainboots next to the doormat, at the numbers by our door. I put my hand on the doorknob, and, while I turned it, I put on the best smile I could. Then, I opened the door, still smiling. “I’m home.” My roommate and her boyfriend were cuddling on the couch—our couch—watching the same show they’d been watching for the past three weeks on my TV with my Netflix account. I can’t remember the last time I even thought about watching TV.. “Hey,” my roommate’s voice was tired and disinterested. The greeting was a formality at this point. “Hi,” I tried so hard to make it sound genuine, but it came out a little more aggressive and short than I intended. I walked past them and grabbed the books from my desk. They didn’t quite fit in my bag, but I forced them into their place. I made sure my laptop and its charger were still there. Her boyfriend glanced over at me, “How was your day? “Long,” I really didn’t feel like explaining the intricacies of my day, and I knew he didn’t really care; he just wanted to use me as a pawn to make himself feel better. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, “I’m gonna go start a paper that’s due in 12 hours. Pray for me.” I pushed my way through the door. I set my things down in the lounge and intentionally didn’t turn the lights on. The lounge had become another place I went to avoid interacting with my roommate. I closed my eyes again and cried.

[thewritingjasmine]

I Was Never Taught CPR

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. But I never told you that. I smiled at you and, with my eyes, I told you I was fine. So, you walked away. You left me there, gasping for breath as my face turned red, then purple, then blue. When you think back on us, you will wonder, “Is there anything I could have done?” The answer is yes. You had every opportunity to give me CPR.

[thewritingjasmine]

Swimming Lessons

No one tells you the worst part of drowning. It’s not the suffocating or the fear of dying. It’s the forcing yourself to swim. Suffocation isn’t the worst, and no one can teach you. You have to force yourself to swim, even with people yelling from the edge of the pool. No one can teach you how to swim if they just stand there, yelling from the edge, “it’s so easy!” when they haven’t even tried themselves. They will just stand there, not helping while you hear their muffled voice, trying to explain what they have never done, and you claw your way through the water. You will hear a muffled voice while you teach yourself to swim and claw through the waves in your path, and maybe that voice is your own. While you’re teaching yourself to swim and you brace the fear of dying, hearing your own voice, no one will tell you the worst part of drowning.

[thewritingjasmine]

Lipstick

I love lipstick. I wear it every day, no matter what. Nothing stops me from applying it. Every color of the rainbow. Most days are lipstick days, but some days aren’t. People tell me that they look forward to the different colors. I don’t wear lipstick as much. It’s really a special occasion thing. “Only you could rock that color!” “I wish I had your confidence! I hate lipstick. Wearing it brings back memories. It’s a chore to put on, but everyone wants to know what happened to the lipstick.

[thewritingjasmine]

Defining Moments

When my mom was 24, her mother died. It was sudden. A heart attack. No one saw it coming. It was the day after her birthday, and they were both fighting. I sang “You Are My Sunshine” at her funeral. I was 5. “When she died, her mistakes didn’t matter.” When my sister was 3, she fell into a curio cabinet. After being rushed to the hospital, she returned home with 40 stitches in her face. There was a large shard of glass that was about half an inch from her jugular. She would have died. I was 6. “She had her guardian angel watching over her.” When I was 20, my mom and stepdad separated. My mom likes to remind me that her mom died when she was about my age. My stepdad lived in the RV in our yard. I couldn’t stand being home. I was on a sitcom, and I wasn’t getting the joke. “I don’t need you to forgive me because my God already has.”

[thewritingjasmine]

How I Learned to Lie on My Back and Take It

One— I am fat, stupid, and unwanted. He loves me, so it’s okay. I forget how to say no when he gropes me on a date. I tell myself it’s not worth it. He touches me whenever he wants now. I ask him to come see me in a play. He says no. Theatre is stupid. I don’t talk to him the next day. He hits me. Two— He kisses me when he’s drunk. I kiss him back. He makes me feel wanted and becomes my friend with benefits. I regularly sneak him into my bedroom, and we end up talking for hours. He develops feelings. I don’t. He calls me a whore and stops texting me. Five— He says hi to me in a parking lot, and we smoke a joint. I go back with him to a hotel room. He gets on top of me. I resist. He’s stronger than I am. I can’t bring myself to look at my father for two days. Seven— I meet her at a New Year’s party. She is pretty. I am drunk. She kisses me at midnight and leads me back to her room. I follow. She wants to have sex. I don’t say no.

[thewritingjasmine]

Words to replace said, except this actually helps

I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.

IN RESPONSE TO Acknowledged Answered Protested

INPUT/JOIN CONVERSATION/ASK Added Implored Inquired Insisted Proposed Queried Questioned Recommended Testified

GUILTY/RELUCTANCE/SORRY Admitted Apologized Conceded Confessed Professed

FOR SOMEONE ELSE Advised Criticized Suggested

JUST CHECKING Affirmed Agreed Alleged Confirmed

LOUD Announced Chanted Crowed

LEWD/CUTE/SECRET SPY FEEL Appealed Disclosed Moaned

ANGRY FUCK OFF MATE WANNA FIGHT Argued Barked Challenged Cursed Fumed Growled Hissed Roared Swore

SMARTASS Articulated Asserted Assured Avowed Claimed Commanded Cross-examined Demanded Digressed Directed Foretold Instructed Interrupted Predicted Proclaimed Quoted Theorized

ASSHOLE Bellowed Boasted Bragged

NERVOUS TRAINWRECK Babbled Bawled Mumbled Sputtered Stammered Stuttered

SUAVE MOTHERFUCKER Bargained Divulged Disclosed Exhorted

FIRST OFF Began

LASTLY Concluded Concurred

WEAK PUSY Begged Blurted Complained Cried Faltered Fretted

HAPPY/LOL Cajoled Exclaimed Gushed Jested Joked Laughed

WEIRDLY HAPPY/EXCITED Extolled Jabbered Raved

BRUH, CHILL Cautioned Warned

ACTUALLY, YOU’RE WRONG Chided Contended Corrected Countered Debated Elaborated Objected Ranted Retorted

CHILL SAVAGE Commented Continued Observed Surmised

LISTEN BUDDY Enunciated Explained Elaborated Hinted Implied Lectured Reiterated Recited Reminded Stressed

BRUH I NEED U AND U NEED ME Confided Offered Urged

FINE Consented Decided

TOO EMO FULL OF EMOTIONS Croaked Lamented Pledged Sobbed Sympathized Wailed Whimpered

JUST SAYING Declared Decreed Mentioned Noted Pointed out Postulated Speculated Stated Told Vouched

WASN’T ME Denied Lied

EVIL SMARTASS Dictated Equivocated Ordered Reprimanded Threatened

BORED Droned Sighed

SHHHH IT’S QUIET TIME Echoed Mumbled Murmured Muttered Uttered Whispered

DRAMA QUEEN Exaggerated Panted Pleaded Prayed Preached

OH SHIT Gasped Marveled Screamed Screeched Shouted Shrieked Yelped Yelled

ANNOYED Grumbled Grunted Jeered Quipped Scolded Snapped Snarled Sneered

ANNOYING Nagged

I DON’T REALLY CARE BUT WHATEVER Guessed Ventured

I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM Hooted Howled Yowled

I WONDER Pondered Voiced Wondered

OH, YEAH, WHOOPS Recalled Recited Remembered

SURPRISE BITCH Revealed

IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD Scoffed Snickered Snorted

BITCHY Tattled Taunted Teased

[thewritingjasmine]

The Compton Chronicles Chapter 2, Part I

You smiled at Will with pride; you were in awe of his achievements thus far. Shia Labeouf had been a foe no man dared to cross. "Will," you broke the comfortable silence, "We should tend to your war wound." "Yes," he looked at his stump leg, "I have lost unhealthy amount of blood... Bristow's bowtie can only do so much." . . . Three months had passed since the decapitation of Shia Labeouf, and everyone had forgotten him. Children could play in the streets again, hunters could lay bear traps without fearing that they would aid Labeouf in his Tuesday night hunts, and people no longer feared the sound of someone sharpening an axe. You and Will had bonded during the past three moths, and you frequented his place of living quite often. Austin Bristow II had not yet responded to Will's hundreds of letters during his time in the Middle East, and Will had begun to worry. You had stopped by Will's place of living one day when he confided in you. As you entered his place of living, you had an uneasy feeling. Will was sitting in his rocking chair, staring out the window in thought. Breaking the uncomfortable silence, you spoke, "I see your leg has healed nicely." "Yes," he was lost in thought, "It grew back, just as the doctors said it would." "Have you heard word from Bristow? I've been praying to Harambe and asking him to guide him through his travels." "No," Will sunk into his rocking chair, "I have never been this worried about Bristow in our entire friendship..." "What troubles you so?" "Sit down, young Travis," Will stood up as he said this. Obediently, you sat on his couch. Will walked over to his lit fireplace and leaned on the mantle. "I recieved a letter this evening," he looked away from you as he said this. "From whom?" your worry showed. "I do not know," Will pulled the letter from his pocket, "but it was signed with Bristow's name." Shocked, you asked, "What does it say?!" "The letter said he planned to stay in the Middle East, because he loved helping the children too much..." "What makes you think it wasn't Bristow?" "Because," Will threw the letter in the fire, "Bristow only brought enough bowties for three months, and," his voice cracked, "Bristow has always hated helping children." To be continued...

[thewritingjasmine]

The Compton Chronicles Chapter 1, Part II

"What's wrong, Travis?" Will asked, still smiling. "Will," you started backing toward the door, "what's on your face?" Will touched his face and looked at this fingers, "That's a good question." You felt your heart almost stop beating. You swallowed, "You don't know? It kind of looks like blood..." "Well," Will said thoughtfully, "it could be my blood from my stump leg after I got caught in that bear trap..." You quickly looked at Will's leg; he had been balancing on one leg this whole time, but you were too busy staring at his face to notice. "Oh my God!" you yelled, "Are you okay?!" "Yeah," he smiled, "I made a tourniquet out of Bristow's bowtie." "When did this happen?!" "Well, I was walking through the woods. There was no one around because Bristow needed to help some kids in the Middle East, and my phone had just died. That's when I saw him..." Confused, you asked, "Who?" Will's face darkened, "Shia Labeouf." "What?!" "I was looking for my car, but I was all turned around. He was almost upon me, and I could see there was blood on his face. My God! There was blood everywhere!" "You were running for your life from Shia Labeouf?" "He was brandishing a knife!" "Shia Labeouf?" "He was lurking in the shadows!" "Hollywood superstar, Shia Labeouf?!" "He was lurking in the woods, killing for sport, and eating all the bodies. Actual cannibal, Shia Labeouf!" "Oh, my God!" "It was dark, and I thought I had lost him; but, I was hopelessly lost myself. I was stranded with a murderer, and I crept silently through the underbrush. Then, in the distance, I spotted a small cottage with a light on." "Hope!" "I moved stealthily toward it, bu then my leg was caught in a bear trap. I had to gnaw my leg off!" "Is that sanitary?" "I was quietly limping toward the cottage. Then, I was on the doorstep, and sitting inside was Shia Labeouf. He was sharpening an axe." "Shia Labeouf?" "I snuck up behing him and strangled superstar Shia Labeouf! I was fighting for my life with Shia Labeouf, and I was wrestling a knife from Shia Labeouf. I stabbed it his kidney. I had won." "Safe, at last, from Shia Labeouf." "I limped into the dark woods, blood oozing from my stump leg." "You've beaten Shia Labeouf?!" "Wait, he wasn't dead." "Shia surprise!" "There was a gun to my head and death in his eyes, but I could do Jiu Jitsu!" "You can do it?" "I body slammed superstar Shia Labeouf! It was a legendary fight with Shia Labeouf!" "A normal Tuesday night for Shia Labeouf." "I tried to swing an axe at Shia Labeouf, but blood was oozing fast from my stump leg. He dodged every swipe, he parried to the right, but I countered to the right and caught him in the neck." "You have decapitated Shia Labeouf?!" "So, to answer your question, it could be Shia Labeouf's blood, but I have no idea whose blood it is." The end?

[thewritingjasmine]

The Compton Chronicles Chapter 1, Part I

It was a dark and stormy night. You had decided that this was the perfect time to investigate the creepy hallway in Burgess, even though you had to go alone. Part of you assumed the building would not be open, but the other part of you wanted it to be. Walking in the rain to your destination, you heard a wolf cry in the distance. Perfect. As you approached the door, you braced yourself for a locked door, but, luckily, it opened. You quickly made your way into the building, and the wind slammed the door shut behind you. The lights were flickering, but you assumed it must be the storm. Walking towards the stairs that lead to the hallway, you heard the wind howl with uncertainty and the rain pelt the building more forcefully. You began your decent down the stairs when, suddenly, you heard someone whistling the tune from Kill Bill. This made you uneasy but more curious. A door towards the end of the hallway had light pouring out of it, so you decided that was the place to investigate first. While making your way towards the door, you heard the whistling get louder. Had you found the source? You were two feet away from the door when the whistling abruptly stopped. Did they hear you coming? You had stopped, and then a saw was heard buzzing inside the room. You could feel your heart racing, but you had to know. You slowly pushed the door open, and the hinges creacked. You opened the door to reveal Will Compton with his back to you. "Will?" you asked timidly. Will turned around, grinnning, his face and hat aplattered with red To be continued...

[thewritingjasmine]

The Compton Chronicles

This story started as a letter I wrote to my friend Travis. It is told in second person from his perspective. All the events that take place in the story are purely fiction, but the characters are based on real people, all people I know personally. It's still an ongoing story, and I hope to continue writing it. Thank you.