When Nature Takes Pity
Chapter 1
Rebirth
As it happened, Lola Wickerborough had a blissful obliviousness about her that landed her a good temperament. She was recently out of college, having done a degree in biology, and was hoping to get a job that paid well. Her aspirations were not completely derived of the generous salary that surgeons and doctors are accustomed to getting, but rather the desire for purpose. She felt that many dying people deserved life, and felt that she owed it to them to help them. The trust people put in her and the gratitude expressed towards her was enough to fill her ego. It did not, however, fill her ego completely because it was not expressed as a result of her healing hands, rather her job as a freelance painter, something she practised to maintain her creativity and to earn enough money to rent an apartment away from her family, despite being a student. The trust was bestowed upon her to refrain from marking the canvas with the imitation of a spot (and in some cases, the occasional wart). She was expected to flatter her clients, but found that very few were truly beautiful, and that ugliness bore infinite variations.
The truth was that Lola could not find a job, and therefore questioned where her true purpose lay. Was it in a hospital or a studio, or in a studio? Was it even in London? Not knowing her place brought discontent, and many lonesome nights found her tossing and turning, wondering where her destiny lay. She often gazed at the stars, believing that they held the key to her problems, but she was too happy and her cynicism diminished her faith. After a year of painting portraits, her good temperament was but a memory. She felt wronged by nature that she was born into such a narcissistic society, which was perhaps why nature took pity on her.
It was on a fateful day at the end of July when she had finished her most impressive portrait yet; one in which the man had instructed her to be brutally honest with her brush. And so she had been, and it had been fantastic. The man, a certain Professor Chapman, had expressed the deepest gratitude, and with a smug smile on her face, she left his house feeling not so bad after all. The degree in biology, and all that hard work, she felt, was little compared to the joys and mysteries of pure talent. The smile, however, was wiped off her face when a loud rumbling shook the earth. A building at the end of the street had exploded, presumably killing everyone in the vicinity. She and the others on the street had no choice but to run as fast as possible to the opposite end. She reckoned she was probably safe, seeing as she was, despite her lack of speed, nearing the end of the road. In the bustling crowd and chaotic sea of runners, which probably resembled something like the first few minutes of the London marathon, ankles and elbows collided, and it was in this panic that Lola tripped, fell sideways, straight off the pavement and into the road. As she struggled to get back on to the pavement, a car came zooming past, and with the screeching of tyres, a glance backwards and the attention of the nearest onlookers that this woman was flung high in the air and landed, with a sickening thump, on the pavement.
While light faded to darkness and pain became nothing more than a sensation, screams became a hum, almost as if in farewell, and for the first time in a long time, Lola was at peace. The knowledge that she had not done anything of proper significance assured her that by letting go, she would not be facing oblivion. It was with this thought that the light returned, as if it had forgotten something, and she was bathed in the glow of it. She had a resolute conviction that she was elsewhere, and that this was not the end; it was merely the beginning.