My Talent

Please don't hate me for this, I just like being random.
And what does random birth?
Random stories!

BEGIN!
This is in the view of an artistic ceramist.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I sat in my favorite chair in front of my favorite desk, paints and little knick-knacks all around me.
I picked up a fairly bare one and picked up a brush, dabbing it in the water, I dipped the fairly wet brush into the paint on the makeshift palette, and picked up the knick-knack and carefully started painting the hair. Carefully I painted the hair that was closest to the skin when the door was thrown open along with a cry.

"Granma, Granma!!!"

I laughed and looked at the little ceramic angel.

"Good job, Elisa, you made my ceramic perfect," Sure enough, when I was startled, the little jolt got the hair painted almost perfectly, a little smudge on the skin, but that could be fixed. I set my job down, and picked Elisa up, and set her on my lap.

"What are you making now, Granma?" The eight year old asked.

"My second little angel." I bounced the child happily on my knee. She giggled loudly.

"Really? What are you naming this one?" She asked, her eyes staring at the incomplete piece.

"That's a good question my dear. I'm afraid Elisa's been taken..." She smiled brightly and hopped off the play with the kittens in the next room over.

There was one reason why I wouldn't finish the piece in front of her, when I painted the simple and final pearly coat on her wings, I held her in my hand.

"C'mon, wake up, you'd done now... Rise little one." I whispered, and although to some I would be called Psycho, they would have to watch with open minds; the little angel, full of colorful life, and not a single bit of White ceramic left on her, suddenly stretched and yawned.

And Kurume, my daughter, always wondered why I kept, and made, little miniature clothes, the angels I bought from Cheetah, a ceramist much like myself; however, she sold me molds to make these angels, yet when brought to life, by my rousing words, they would not be clothed.

She stood up in my palm and she suddenly became aware of her surroundings and blushed darkly as her first time used legs crumbled under her into my hand.

I laughed lightly as I walked over to a drawer with all kinds of miniature clothes for her. Carefully setting her down in it, I walked away, letting her rummage through the clothes drawer.

My granddaughter dashes in again. "Granma! Look!" She said, holding her kitten with a cute bow tied loosely on its neck.

"How cute," I say, as I pet the kitten, she purred and then Elisa set her down then followed her as the kitten scampered off.

Shortly after, the little angel poked her head out of the drawer, she had no luck getting dressed and I chuckled.

Walking over I righted her clothes and she looked down at herself, and I handed her a piece of a broken mirror. she gazed at herself, she chose pants, and a tanktop with a cloth belt. I had to help get the tanktop on as her cerulean wings wouldn't fit through the shirt.

"How's that?" I whispered, and she smiled up at me.

"I'm afraid at the moment, you can't do much, I mean,  you can't speak at the moment, nor do I have any pencils for you to write with… sigh, I'm sorry little one. But I kinda just don't know what to do with you…"

Regardless, she still smiled. That smile reminded me of someone. I smiled softly and mused with her soft blonde hair.

What a unique gift I have.