Jasmine pulled a small, square sheet of paper off the pile. She pushed one end to reach another, then pressed down. The paper was now unable to return to its former state of flatness. Jasmine looked at the crease; good, but not perfect. They never were.
She folded it again, and again, and again. She turned the paper, twisted it, pushed at it, poofed it out and squished it in. Unfolded, it would have looked like someone had crumpled it. In Jasmine’s hands, it was taking shape. Now it was a two dimensional boat; now it was a three dimensional cup. A flower. A mountain range.
As she finished, Jasmine gave the paper a last little squeeze. Now, sitting in front of her, she had a little puppy, four legs and a tail, ears and mouth. It was cute, in a blank-faced kind of way.
Jasmine considered drawing on eyes. There was a time when she would have. But as she looked at it, she knew she couldn’t. It would become too real, then.
She picked up the little creature, made it walk along the edge of the counter for a moment. Then she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it into the recycling bin. Tomorrow, maybe, she’d make a good one.