Create.
To create. To be creative. Even the mere thought of the words tumbling around in Elizabeth's mind seemed foreign to her. It had been such a long time since she had allowed herself to create anything. To do so would take her focus away from the science. Truth. Knowledge. The steadfast. To create meant opening oneself up to impossibility, improbability and imagination. In this day and age so much focus was placed on empirical knowledge.
But perhaps it wasn't just that. "No. Never just that" she thought to herself. Starring outside of her window she could see the streetlights glow through the rain-streaked windows of her bedroom. The cool, crisp air seeping in through the cracks of her old creaky house.
She didn't always used to be this way, once upon a time, the world danced with fiery colors of vibrant sunsets and blazing leaves of the autumn-turned trees, eagerly awaiting the change of the season that would bring the magical time of winter, and the smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and apple cider.
Thinking of when she was a little girl, the forests, oceans and sky held life and adventure, mystery and promise. She would look up to the heavens and imagine people in far off places looking up at the same sky. As she grew she was eager to explore all life had to offer but her she sat in a cold grey room, looking at the dim glow of the light of a world which only held loss and abandonment – thought of wondrous creatures and excitement gone. The land of make believe had turned into a place that she felt was slipping through her fingers no matter hold tightly she held on to it. Thus the shift to cold, calculating truths.
She glanced back down at her blank sheet of drawing paper. A rebel tear escaped down her cheek, more threatened to follow.
She further contemplated…if she had chosen the path of scientific truth, what had possessed her to pull out her drawing pad and pencils. Who was she? Did she know? No.
Seven years. It's been seven years since that faithful day.
She was alone, in her room attempting to study. One can only fully understand the skeletal makeup when they are able to reproduce their findings by transferring them onto the page. That's what Mr. Houghton had said anyway. And she believed him. Not that Elizabeth had minded anyway, drawing had always been the preferred method of escape from boring classes with droning teachers. Now she had a professor giving her the perfect excuse to call upon an age old habit and equally get work done. What was not to love!?
She gazed at the small bone in the sterile light, following its curvatures and indentations. Her lead pencil barely pressing up against the page, shading what was once a clean sheet.
The house phone buzzed.
Putting on her brightest mask, hiding the annoyance in her voice at being taken away from her studies, she answered.
"Hello?"
"It's Pops, we need to talk. Come to the hospital. Now."