Aged

     The words he had written earlier that day just glared at him, they hated him, despised him and wished they had never been written. He hated when his own words did this to him, so he tore the page out and threw it away. He chewed on his beef jerky, which was a little too tough, and grabbed his can of pilsner that he was drinking just a little bit too quickly.
     He sat back down and thought about Jasmine, beautiful Jasmine and began to write about her. She was in a dark dress in an even darker room filled with people who were excited to be out. She was sipping a Negroni and was the life of the party. Someone that beautiful couldn’t be sitting in a corner. He wrote for hours, and went through more and more cans of Pilsner. It was almost midnight when he began to write about Jasmine relaxing in her sauna. He closed his eyes to get a better picture and when he opened them there she was, in the flesh. In reality.
     She eyed him with hatred, her veins almost popping out of her neck. He tried to close his eyes to bring back the memories of Jasmine, the young and pretty version.