"Bubbles. They floated everywhere, like little travelers. Fearlessly making their journey, to the Fantasy World." "How does that sound?"
"Good, good, really good, Meg."
"That what you always say." I said, bitterly.
"Then why do you always read the same story?"
"Its not the same story," I said as bitterly as I could," "We have been over this!"
"Meg, if you want a different answer, then why don't you just read one of your stories to your friends?" I almost laughed.
"Peter, you know, I would read it to a friend, but that requires having a friend," I said.
"Well, find one," he suggested as he grabbed his wallet off the couch.
"Well, don't you think I have tried?"
"Sure, but sometimes, actually making a friend for real, instead of writing about making a friend, is better," he said as he pulled on one of his sneakers. I sighed, Peter didn't really help much, he was eighteen, and always had to leave to do something, since grandpa went into the hospital, he had to work, or shop, or buy things, and he really usually was the only company I had besides my cat, Toby. I knew it was a little bit pathetic, but being advanced in writing and reading made me feel less pathetic, so I had thought it all out, thought it over a million times. I would get famous, just somehow. It may just make it easier to make friends, since I was somehow very off-putting to people.
"After your done, can you drive me to the hospital, I made grandpa a poem, and I want to know how he's doing," I said looking down at my shoes.
"Ok Meg, don't burn or light anything on fire while I'm gone," he said.
"I won't," I said as I hugged him. "Careful Petey." I said looking up at him.
"I will." Then he walked out the door, into the hurtling rain, and disappeared into the shadows of the night. Toby mewed to say he was hungry, and he jumped onto the couch still mewing. "So how was your day," I said to Toby, as I rubbed behind his furry jet-black ears. He purred, and I laid down, slowly thinking my plan over again. If I was famous, things wouldn't be so hard. We would have money for grandpa's treatment, and Peter wouldn't have three jobs, and we wouldn't have to live in a shack of a house by a big farm, and everything would be normal, we would be normal, I would have friends, I would be normal, just normal. I must have thought this all over about a million times, but so far it was the only thing that comforted me. I laid still with Toby purring as he sat on my stomach, and I slowly gave way to sleep, dreaming about being normal.