My favorite pasttime was drawing. It didn't matter what, as long as I could expend my excess creative energy. I had tried doing that in book form in the past, but they always ended up as picture books instead. After that, I spent my time drawing many different things. However, my confidence in my art skills was shaken after seventh grade art class. I dropped it the next year, but it had made me a perfectionist. My teacher had always found something wrong with what I drew, up to the point that I went over it ten or eleven times just making sure it was perfect. Since then, sketching has always made me nervous. What if someone saw the sketch and thought it didn't make sense? Wouldn't that mean the finished product wouldn't make sense? I began comparing my amazing art to my friend's and my younger sister's. I kept telling myself theirs was better than mine, while they both agreed mine was the best. Once I tried to get past that, I found that it took a lot to inspire me to draw. I wasn't sure what or how to draw anymore.

    So now I sat in my partially dark room, brooding and trying to decide whether I should draw something, or pack my travel backpack for our move to Paris. Both of my parents had gotten really good jobs there, and were making us move so they could have them. Of course, my siblings and I all protested, but our parents were set on moving. So now the room I sat in was almost empty, except for a few things I could easily put into the backpack in the corner. I sighed yet again and closed my notebook, putting it aside. As soon as I did, there was a loud peal of thunder. I flinched, then furrowed my brow. Wasn't it just sunny outside? Why was there thunder? I walked over to the window and opened the blinds, only to be blinded by another flash of lightning, and deafened by another crack of thunder. Dark, dangerous looking storm clouds rolled in the sky, creating rumbles and flickers of thunder and lightning. The louder cracks and flashes had stopped for now, but I realized that this was not normal. There hadn't been a cloud in the sky earlier. Rain wasn't even expected this week. Yet it was pouring buckets out there, and the clouds had seemed to get whiter. I squinted. Had they gotten whiter?

    A small, white shape fluttered past my window, and I gasped. Snow? In Arizona? What was going on? I turned to go see what was going on outside when I saw something on my dresser I had never seen before. A golden chain had been lain ceremoniously on my dresser. A small, golden, dragonfly-shaped pendant hung from the center. I cocked my head in confusion. Where did that come from? I reached forward and picked it up. I examined it and was about to put it on when another loud boom could be heard from outside. I shoved the necklace unceremoniouly into my pocket, grabbed my jacket, and rushed outside into the snow.