The Pacifist [COMPLETED]

I Wish I was Back in the Army

Rachel

It probably would have been better if Rachel had worn a mask when she ended up with a stubborn cough after cleaning out the shed. The dust and mold couldn't have been good for her lungs, but that didn't distract her from the resurrection of her and her sister's sacred space. One of Rachel's first memories was being allowed to have a corner in it, with a brand new easel and starter pain kit and her eager older sister telling her the boundaries that came with sharing the space.

Rachel closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and noting the now faint smell of mold intermingled with lemon and pine. She had also purchased some indoor plants and their freshly planted soil also breathed life into the abandoned space. Cara hadn't allowed plants, worrying that the need to block out the sunlight so she could develop her photos would eventually kill them. Although Rachel intended on picking up the camera again, she didn't plan on developing her own photos. Cara hadn't gotten around to teaching Rachel before she died.

The furniture stood in new places, marking the erased boundaries as now, only one artist would use it. She moved her painting station to the wall opposite the door as two windows flanked it: it would provide optimal lighting. Cara's work table had been pushed into a corner and would serve as a planning station where Rachel would map out her mixed media canvasses. The shelf of paints remained where it had been, but a new shelf joined it and it was stocked with ribbons, small buckets of plaster, tins of glitter, along with other craft items. Rachel was excited to explore and expand her art. She hadn't gotten past the paint and had just started delving into photography before she stopped creating. Now, she figured she had lost enough time and a tidal wave of creation was ready to burst through.

She needed to be ready.