• "Please do something!" Mom insisted, glaring over at me. I sighed as I put the torn clay down. "Tomorrow is the fair." She reminded me again. I glanced at the computer through the corner of my eye. The feeling to write has been growing stronger. Mom sighed in defeat and stood up. John looked around and came into the room. "Is that smoke I smell?" He asked, sarcasm deep in his voice. I roll my eyes at him and continue to tear my clay. "What are you doing, Mel?" He asked, his voice causal. "Tearing the clay." I reply with a bored voice. John snorts and picks up yellow clay. "Melanie! Get the camras so we can get some more pictures!" Mom yells through an open door. I growl to myself, and heave myself up. John sticks his tongue out at me and continues to play with his clay. I find the camras and go outside, squinting my eyes in the bright sun. "Lets hurry up and do those hand prints," She said, turning to me, "and then we can figure something out for Crafts." I sigh and put my hands in a small bucket of water. I gently press them down on the hot cement. I jump back, taking out on of the camras. A snach a picture, but its no where as good as the original. I slip away into my room, pulling out an old notebook.

    Dark,
    Black and gray,
    Only if it lasted a second,
    But only a second was enough,


    I stoped, trying to find something else that described my sleepless nights.

    I wait and wait,
    Until the birds and sun greet me again.


    I smile in satisfaction, re-reading my poem. "Melanie?" Mom knocks on the door. She opens it and looks in. "We are not done yet." She mutters. I groan inwardly, and nod. I get up and sneak my poem another look and put the notebook away.

    The sky turns a dark blue. I groan, putting my head on the table. "We can still make some soap?" Mom sugested as she came in the room. She gives me a sack full of soap, the scents, and food coloring. I pick up one of the scents. Vanilla. I smile to myself, then put the small bottle off to the side. A blink, thinking of another poem.

    Will my soap be green,
    Like a bean-


    I laugh, more of like a short bark. Mom looks over at me, question burning in her eyes. "Its just the po-" I stop, my eyes dulling. "Nothing." I put the soap in a metal container and put it in the microwave. Thirty seconds later I take the soap out. It was like a little puddle, almost like melted butter. I take it back to the table. "Now add the food coloring and scent, if you want." Mom said as I came up to her. I pick up a random color. Purple, the bottle had written on it. I pick it up, dripping a few drops in the hardening soap. "Do you want to add the Baby Powder to it?" She asked, showing it to me. I wrinkle my nose. "Vanilla." I tell her. The door opens, and I turn to look at it. "I'm home!" John said as he walked in. "Oh great..." I reply. Mom turns to glare at me. "Melanie! Be nice to your brother." She scolds. I groan inwardly, and put soap in a container, and put it in the fridge.
    I blink my eyes open. I glance over at the clock. 1:24 I sigh, flipping around to have my back to the clock. This have been going on for too long... I think, narrowing my eyes. I close my eyes, letting my fantisies take over me.