The sugar.

The small grains of sugar slipped through my fingers and I watched, enthralled at the simplicity of falling sugar. It hit the counter with a soft pattering noise and rolled slightly until my small pile became flat. Then it would happen again. The pile would build up and then collapse. It was so beautiful. After a short while, the sugar began sticking to my hand where my hands were clamming up. Soon, the joy of falling sugar became the terror of sticky hands and really, that wasn't a good thing at all.
Standing, I walked to the sink and carefully turned the tap on. The water flowed down and hit the metal with a splash. It circled the plug hole in a clockwise direction before running down the drain and disappearing into the darkness. Slowly, I moved my hands underneath the stream of cold water, flinching slightly at the temperature. I only held them under there for long enough to wet them before pulling my hands away and squirting some smooth blue soap into my palm. The soap was warm compared to my wet hands. It slid around as I rotated my hand. As I rubbed the soap in, the foam formed and soon my hands were white and somewhat fluffy.
Smiling, I sadly put my hands under the slightly warmer water and watched as the foam spun around the plug hole and was then sucked into the enteral darkness of the drain.
I dried my hands on a towel. The soft fabric rubbed them, picking up all remains of water. I turned just then, looking at the mess on the counter.
With a heavy sigh, I walked to the counter and prepared myself to clean up the sugar that made me so happy.