Meet Jasmine, a thirteen year old girl abandoned by her own parents and left to fight for her life on the streets. Everyday, the only sun she sees is inky black. The good news? Her Ipod. The only thing her parents gave her. And Fight Song by Rachel...
The more I think, the more I don't want to give in to Mr. Marconi. I don't want him to get away for blackmailing and possible murder. The minutes tick by painfully slow but eventually the fifteen minutes are up. I hear footsteps coming in my direction.
"So, dear Jasmine, have you made up your mind?" He asks.
"Yes sir, I have. I will not hand over my prizes that I rightfully deserve." I say confidently.
"Very well, do you have any last words?" He asks coldly.
"You won't get away with this! Everyone will know." I say determinedly.
"Oh? I don't think so, my dear Jasmine. I am a very wise man who has covered his tracks well. You see, not only will you suffer, but the ones you love as well." He says, arrogance evident in his voice. I gulp at his words as the room becomes silent.
"What do you mean?" I say nervously.
"The trail leads to your beloved Rachel. It will appear as if she detonated the bomb and wanted you dead." He says. My heart speeds up and thoughts of Rachel in prison fill my head.
"NOW, will you hand over the prizes or not?" He demands. I consider my options. I can't risk Rachel being sent to prison for something she didn't do.
"A-all ri-ight, I-I'll hand them o-over. Please don't let Rachel suffer." I say, tears sliding down my face. I hear a snap of fingers and the room becomes dimly lit.
"Good choice, my friend." Mr. Marconi says, from the doorway. I reach into my bag and pull out all the prizes, handing them to him.
"Excellent, I have to leave now. Someone will be here to escort you out shortly." He says before leaving. I nodded while sobbing. As his footsteps fade away, a loud explosion shakes the building. A shock wave sends me flying back and under a table. I watch in horror as the room starts collapsing.
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Nora's POV
The firemen have started to spray water on blaze engulfing the rubble of what used to be the studio. I feel moisture on my cheeks as I relive the best moments I shared with Jazz. Rachel puts a hand on my shoulder before I turn around and embrace her in a tight hug. Mom hugs both of us.
"Ma'am, you have to leave. It isn't safe here. We'll let you know the condition of your daughter as soon as we can." The chief says, ushering us to end of the block behind the police tape. It took the fire department six hours to finally extinguish the fire. And for all six hours, Aunt Rachel, Mom and I stood watching and hoping that Jazz was still alive somewhere in the remnants of the building. After putting the fire out, the police brought in bulldozers to clear the area.
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