Issues

	The sky has been and will always be the greatest prophet. Whether in myth or faith, its beauty and morbidity has a way of telling the future. Even perspective bows to its whims: for the individual and the mass, separate and together, are both blessed and cursed by its words.
	Jasmine stared out her window, those ominous drops of water pittering and pattering against the pane of glass. She pondered her past, her present, and most importantly, her future. She wondered -- sometimes realistically, sometimes philosophically, but notably unidealistically -- where she was headed. She had wondered how Paulo fit into her life, and where he would fit it to her life, when years would come to pass.
	Their relationship was already a joke. And as is true with the best jokes, nobody was laughing; although, it started off fun, didn’t it? She had enjoyed some momentary glimpses of happiness with him. She had been able to feel the touch of a man, even if she prevented that touch from venturing beyond reins in which her own mother would breach.
	And now, after all of that time, and after so much and so little exploration, was there journey at an end? Had all of their memories come and gone, like a fleeting wind in the summer breeze, blowing through the autumn trees? Would winter’s sudden, blackened chill, send sullen shockwaves through her will?
	Maybe… It was the same answer she had given to herself countless times before. She never had anything more reliable. Anything more trustworthy than that qualifying placeholder. She stood from her bed.
	She had been invited to a party earlier in the week. Her doubts had existed long before, but it was then -- the moment she had consciously decided to not tell Paulo about this event -- that they took their true from. But she refused herself the right questions. She was too terrified of the answer. Too terrified in sacrificing her innocence and her ignorance to receive responsibility and pain. Was she obligated to do so? And if so, what God declared this? Certainly not hers!
	She had a merciful God! One that would not subject a harmless and helpful vessel such as herself to such indiscriminate mental inconsistencies! She would go to that party. She would leave behind both Paulo and her regrets. For once in her life she would also leave behind the responsibilities she pretended to have.
	“Jasmine…”
	The phone rang.
	“Jazzy, please pick up…”
	She looked at the caller ID. It was Paulo. She glared at the phone for some seconds before she slammed it down and started to get ready. She felt a peculiar amount of anger swell up inside her. Had Paulo done anything wrong? Did he deserve her spite?
	Maybe, if Paulo had had any forethought, he would have known their relationship was doomed to fail. From the very beginning it was a hopeless endeavor. Even she knew that! Or at least she pretended she did, just as she pretended she didn’t. But who was there to care? Certainly not her!
	Make up danced upon her face like freshly freed slaves. Her lips pouted with glowing sexuality. She painted up her eyelashes so they would flicker with mysterious and welcoming eroticism. She was ready. She grabbed her things and left; for fate would not wait forever.
	The ride was quick, and brief, and sudden, and quick, and when she got out of the car she was initially impressed by the breath-taking size of the house. It was bright-white like her soul. Tall like her integrity. She went inside.
	The party was an absolute fairy tale ball. The inside was decorated with the finest cups, plates, linens, and even chairs. Everything seemed to sparkle of gold and smell of rose. She caressed the floor of the building as she walked in, her high heels clicking. No one seemed to look at her, but she didn’t care. She was so blown away by the beauty of the place, the freedom it exhumed!
	She would have a drink, mingle with the others; that was what she would do! She walked over to the a large table, covered by a gold cloth that was even more expensive than her solid white dress, one which contrasted beautifully with her black fur and matched delightfully with her white chest, which was of a rather generous size, which sometimes bounced if she hopped, which could cause her to fall because she was wearing high heels, and that would cause someone to help her, and that someone was looking at her from the across the room. His eyes were of the most divine shade of blue. The most alluring shade of green. He seemed like an angel from heaven, incepted from insanity.
	She swallowed. He was approaching. She could see the speed of his step picking up. He was getting closer and closer; she couldn’t escape. She felt tears fill her eyes as mascara ran down her cheeks. If only she could free herself from this nightmare. If only her merciful God would earn his title and strike her down to prevent her from experiencing this misery which is beyond all imagination. Hell was not awaiting her, for it was approaching her! Hell was those paradoxical eyes. Those penetrating voids. What God did she have?
“Hi.” His voice was like silk mixed with butter, deep in a batter of maple syrup.
“Hi.” Her voice, however, was course and dreamy. It was half-involved and quite insulting!
“I couldn’t help but notice you… from the across the room.”
“Yes, I saw you too.”
“How are you doing? Are you having fun?”
“Um, yes, I am!”
“Hmm, you’re new around here, aren’t you?”
“I… Yes, I was invited here for the first time.”
“Ohhhh, I see. Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun. Our home is your home.”
“Oh, that’s… very nice!”
“Mmhm… You look a little tense. Care for a rub?”
“A… rub?”
“Why, yes, a back rub.”
“Oh, I thought you meant… Well, nevermind what I thought you meant.”
“I thought I meant that too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly, just making conversation. So how about that rub?”
“No! I couldn’t trouble you like that!”
“No! I insist!” He slid behind her like a shark to its pray and placed his hands upon her shoulders.
“I really must attest!”
“You haven’t felt my body.”
“Your body.”
“My body.”
	His hands were something she had never felt. They were softer than all. Yet, firm and demanding. He whispered short, sweet words into her ears until she was literally brought to the ground. His hands wondered across her back, pressing and pulling, massaging and captivating. They traveled down to her butt. She wanted to fight it, but she couldn’t. His pull was too strong.
	She felt dull pleasure start up between her legs as the palm of his hands pushed into her butt. He spread her cheeks and allowed his fingers to get closer and closer… She bit her lip as he slid inside of her, a strong pleasure reverberating up her spine.
	Was it right? Had she forsaken Paulo?
	No! She had given up her responsibilities! There was supposed to be no worry this night!
	But she lied. She hadn’t known how serious she had been.
	But she accepted the lie. She allowed herself to go unchecked.
	His fingers went deeper and deeper, traveling up her intestines, forcing their way to her throat. Nausea swept over her. She felt her stomach quaking and her throat tightening.
	No, not here. Anywhere but here! Anywhere but now!
	But her begging did no good. She broke into a fit of dry heaving. Unable to sit up, prepared to lie in a pool of her own vomit. But finally, when the mass forced its way out, it was not vomit. It was something far more sinister. Something far more unholy. Something far more poisonous to this world. Something so disgustingly obese that it made her wish vomit had projected itself from her womb.
	It was a head that snapped her jaw and forced its way out. It crept out, inch by inch; the pain was indescribable. If it had to be described, one could say it was not physical, but overwhelmingly mental. There was a constant fear. A constant self-rejection. It was like experiencing defeat infinitely, two-hundred times over.
	And when the head had finally forced its way out, she saw with paralyzing fear it was not just any head, but it was hers. Her own eyes looked back at her; they stared, they were the most divine shade of blue, the most alluring shade of green; the two most devastating things in reality.
	Suddenly, the mouth began to open. The lips parted and the eyes continued to stare, and sitting on the tongue was a small piece of glass. It seemed to represent nothing, and Jasmine believed this until she looked deeper into the glass, and saw the reflection. She saw herself, unharmed, dressed in her beautiful white dress, which contrasted and matched with her conflicting fur tones. She was kissing her new found boyfriend, being fondled and caressed in ways she had only fantasized about!
	But was it truly a mere reflection? Simply an illusion seen in an enigmatic piece of glass? Was it just a masquerade? Was it merely a fairy tale?
	Her eyes opened and she had a strong urge to vomit. She could smell nothing but stale liquor and unwashed man. Next to her was a hairy mongrel. His eyes were the most unflattering shade of brown, more like feces than eyes, and his disposition, even while sleeping, was dangerous and careless.
	What had she done? Where had she gone? People surrounded her, sleeping, hung over, some possibly still high and on the verge of passing out. She saw a large, black bug crawling on the wall, almost too big to even move its greasy little body. She sat up and tried not to moan in discomfort.
	She walked through the embarrassingly small house. She moved over some unwashed sheets. They were hung up as curtains, torn, burnt, stained beyond belief. Light burned her eyes. The sky was a grey shade of blue and in the distance, there was nothing but darkness. Nothing but rain.