Serenity
The rapid strokes of my pencil soon turned into the outline of the mountain I wanted. I had an art assignment due tomorrow and I still was just doing rough drafts. Every few lines, I made sure to check the water on the stove. It was Tuesday which meant it was my day to cook dinner; I was making spaghetti.
“Spaghetti again?” Jonathan said walking into the kitchen to see what we were having.
“You don’t have to eat it,” I said. “Or breathe,” I added under my breath.
That day was just about the last straw I had of Jonathan. We were trying to move into a house across town while mom and dad still went to work every day, which left me in charge of making sure everything and everyone was packed. So far, everyone was ready, except Jonathan. He was the youngest, just about to turn ten, which meant he was used to just whining until he got his way. That’s what he’s been doing all day since mom left. I was done dealing with his bratty attitude and just wanted to finish my sketch before school tomorrow.
“Don’t you know how to cook anything else?” Jonathan scowled crossing his arms.
I glared at him. Just ignore him and get back to sketching. My hand moved all around my paper lining out the idea in my head. It was all wrong again so I tore out the paper and started over.
“Why can’t you just make something else for once?” Jonathan whined. He slumped down and hung off the counter like he was five.
“Have you finished packing everything up? Because if you haven’t you can be doing that instead of complaining about something that won’t change,” I drew another line for the mountain. “That and once Mom and Dad get back and you haven’t finished packing and they hear that you haven’t done anything I asked today, you’re gonna get it.” Two, no three trees on the right side.
“Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you’re the boss. I’m gonna tell mom you yelled at me!” Jonathan taunted, he jumped up and pointed his finger at my face.
I stopped my pencil and looked at him. I can’t believe he would stoop that low over just having to pack a few boxes and eat some more spaghetti. He knew all he had to do was look all sad and say a few whimpering words and Mom would fall all over him, and I would be the bad guy. I put my pencil back to the paper and worked on my sketch again. I kept telling myself to ignore him and focus on the sketch. How about a lake?
“It’s not like your spaghetti is any good anyways,” he muttered crossing his arms again. “I want something else, we should order a pizza,” he walked around the counter and picked up the phone that was next to me.
I snatched the phone from his hand before he could dial a number. “We’re not eating pizza. We’re having spaghetti,” I said and placed the phone down.
“Give that back! I don’t want any of your nasty spaghetti!” he yelled and tried to grab the phone back from me.
“No. You are not getting this back. You don’t have to eat my spaghetti but you are not ordering a pizza. Dad put me in charge and you have to do what I say and I said no!” I snapped back at him holding the phone just out of reach of him. Maybe some grass here? No, here.
“I hate you! I hate you!” Jonathan screamed and ran off to his room slamming doors.
The front door opened and Mom walked inside. “What was that all about? I hope you weren’t bullying your little brother, Alice,” she frowned at me. “You know he’s still just a kid.”
I just about broke my pencil in half. “Well, that ‘just a kid’ hasn’t packed any of his boxes and has done nothing but complain and sit in his room all day,” I said. “And I wasn’t bullying him, I told him he wasn’t going to order a pizza because we’re having spaghetti again,” I told her. Maybe another mountain in that corner.
“Oh, pizza sounds good! We should order some,” Mom picked up the phone and dialed the number. Jonathan came back out just in time to hear her say that and stuck out his tongue at me.
Just ignore all of them and keep drawing. Just keep drawing. I looked down at my picture. It looked just like I wanted it to look, just needed a few more details then I could turn it into my final draft. I looked up at my pot; the water had boiled over.