Three Word Story: Violet, Foot and Butterfly

Leira C. Sanchez Quinones
August 26, 2010


Violet walked around her father's garden in an attempt to get away from her stepmother and half-siblings who were completely annoying. Only seven more weeks since could go back home.
She went around the house until she found herself standing on the driveway, staring at a bike. Clunking noises came from its other side. She walked closer to get a look when here foot caught on something sending her flying forward.

"Fuck!"

Now sitting on the cement driveway she saw she had tripped over a black toolbox. She held her foot trying to ease her pain and see how deep was the cut when she heard a young, male voice over her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the guy said.

She looked up to see a tall, dark hottie standing over her.
He knelt down to look at her cut. "Is it bad?"
His eyes were green and he had a mole on the right side of his neck.
"Hello?" the guy said.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Violet said while trying not to blush. "What did you say?"
He smiled. "Your cut? Is it bad?"
Violet shook her head no.
"Either way, I'm going to run inside a second and get you a band-aid and something to clean it up with." He nodded his head towards her father's house.
"In-inside?"
"Yeah, I live here." He stood up and left. He wore skinny jeans which fitted him nice even though he didn't have a butt to fill it with.
As soon as he walked through the door Violet's mind started racing. He lived here?! How could he? She was sure the house he had just gone into was here father's. The same house where she'd been staying for the past week. Surely, she would've noticed a sixth person at the dinning table. Before she had a chance to look around and make sure there weren't two identical houses like her father's around, in case she had confused the homes, the guy was back.
He took her foot in his lap and, with a gauze, cleaned her cut.
"I'm Violet, by the way," she said, trying to ignore how weird she felt with her foot on s stranger's lap. On a hot stranger's hand.
"I'm Rodrigo," he said, rolling his r's and everything, "and I think your tattoo is rubbing off."
I waved him off. "It's okay."
"Why a butterfly?"