It was a quiet and somber night, when inspiration hit. Perhaps crashing thunder and blinding lightning would have been better suited to the occasion (not to mention frustration) that came with being rudely awoken from being so near to a peaceful sleep.

How one went from humming the lyrics of a Nick Carter song as they tried to sleep, to writing their own song was unknown.

But fact was fact, she had a writers mind, logic and common decency, of allowing resting when tired, were not it's favorite tactics.

So with an almost undetectable sigh she pushed aside the covers and began her search for the torch. That all necessary beacon of light, which was so desperately needed, did as it so often did. Happily eluded her grasp.

'So this is how it's going to be' she thought to herself 'Well let the battle begin!'

And so the battle between frustrated, tired, young writer and hiding torch commenced.

She ran her hand over the carpet as she leaned over the side of the bed precariously. She searched for any item at all. Nothing! Until her hand brushed against a construction of cardboard.

'Guess what!' She thought to herself sarcastically 'If you touch the box it makes as much noice as it possibly can!' She cringed, hoping she hadn't awoken her mother who was sleeping down the hall. No sound of awakening arose so she continued her search.

Her hand encountered a trash can, a cat, a soft toy, and finally the skirting at the edge of the bed. Deciding the torch could be cowering in the darkened mess that resided under her bed, her hand ventured there.

'Uh-huh!' She thought. A small, long cylandrical shape! 'Aww rats! It was just the bed leg!' however, residing beside it was her competitor. And she was victorious!

Now she was left with the simple task of finding a pen.

'Simple?!' her mind retaliated 'heresy!' Mission impossible, easier said then done, give up while you're ahead, Yeah Right! All fit the task ahead of her more then 'simple task'?!

The torch light, half stifled by her hand, swept the room as her eyes searched.

But to no avail!

'That's it then' she would have to venture across the hall to where a jar of pens resided!

Nervous step after nervous step she tip toed there and back. And then, victorious, she settled on her bed and prepared to write.

But wait! What about the paper?!

In her hand the torch laughed to itself. She may have won the battle, but the war is still venturing on.

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