The Girl Of Steel || 9-1-1 ABC fan fiction

Chapter 6: Yasmin Begins

READER DISCRETION ADVISED:
mention of detailed suicide, and vomiting.
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And it all happened in the blink of an eye.

Twelve years ago, during the idyllic summer of 2007, the state of Minnesota basked in the tranquility of a peaceful evening. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the landscape. At the tender age of 13, Yasmin had just wrapped up her day volunteering as a dog walker. The gentle breeze carried the scents of summer, and she strolled back to the cozy suburban neighborhood where she lived.

Lola, the last dog on her list for the day, had been returned to her owner's charming house. The dog's owner, a kind-hearted woman in her mid-70s, greeted Yasmin with a loving smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Her aura exuded warmth and compassion. She was a direct person who asked pertinent questions as a way to connect with others on a deeper level.

"Thank you, Yasmin. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you at the same time tomorrow?"

The woman's voice was as soothing as the evening breeze. Her eyes twinkled with genuine kindness and curiosity.

Yasmin nodded in response. As she returned the leash to Lola’s owner, the woman’s curiosity got the better of her.

"Are your parents still working late shifts?"

She asked, concern etched in her voice. Yasmin nodded.

"Mom’s working dispatch tonight, and Dad’s on duty with the fire department."

The woman’s brow furrowed slightly.

"And do you stay home alone?"

Yasmin offered a reassuring smile.

"No, I usually sleep at my grandparents’ place when they’re both working late"

With a polite wave, Yasmin set off toward her house, only a few blocks away from her grandparents’ place. The streets were quiet, with the faint hum of distant cars and the occasional chirp of crickets. She wasn’t planning on staying long—just a quick stop to pick up her phone before heading over to her grandparents’ home for the night.

As Yasmin turned onto her street, she noticed something that made her pause: her father’s Jeep was parked in the driveway. That wasn’t right. Her father was supposed to be on shift at the station. Maybe he got off early?

“Dad, you’re home already?”

Yasmin questioned aloud, closing the door behind her. The room was engulfed in darkness, and she stepped into a wet patch on the floor. The strong scent of gasoline reached her nostrils, triggering an instinctive alarm in her mind.

“Anyone home? Hello? Dad?”

Yasmin called again, her voice wavering with unease. The smell reminded her of her father's hobby car repairs; he often tinkered in the garage, oil and fuel staining the floor. Just days ago, he had seemed lost in thought, staring blankly out the window. Yasmin had brushed it off as stress from work, never imagining it could lead to what happend next. . .

Fumbling to find the light switch by the door, Yasmin was determined to illuminate the room. As the light flickered on, shock washed over her. The kitchen was littered with three empty jerry cans, their presence unsettling and out of place.

Suddenly, the overpowering scent of gasoline seeped into her consciousness, acrid fumes tightening around her throat and provoking a splitting headache. Yasmin instinctively pressed her palms to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut.