It's All a Matter of Perspective

Clara Kate was just leaving the clinic after a long, hard day of work. Too many patients to see in too little time. And each patient seemed sicker than the one before it. The sun dipped just below the horizon and it was getting dark. As she stepped out onto the still, damp street ,the nippy March air whipped around her, tossing her hair and tugging at her scrubs. Clara Kate decided to go for a walk. Work had been difficult that day and she needed to clear her head. Poking around the old Sawmill always made her feel better. She had so many fond memories of watching the work of the mills; she always fancied that she was its owner and responsible for the beautiful freshly hewn logs. Now, just an old theater, the mill reminded her of better days. The sweet, piney smell of cut wood that still lingered about the mill always reminded her of her father. So lost in thought, Clara Kate scarcely noticed the setting sun. Her wandering had taken her around the far side of the Sawmill where she was alone and away from the eyes of passing drivers. As she ambled about the old mill, Clara Kate heard a rustle. She turned around quickly, running head-long into a bushy haired man with a unkempt mustache. The impact cut her lip and knocked the man’s wallet, which he was carrying in his hand, to the ground. Distracted by the man’s presence, she unconsciously bent over to pick up the wallet, expecting to return it to the stranger. The bending motion released a gush of blood from the gash on her lip. Bleeding everywhere, Clara Kate quickly dropped the wallet and sprinted toward the clinic. She was so shaken by the experience she did not even notice that she ran straight into Emma Gerber. Mumbling a hurried apology, Clara Kate rushed on to the clinic, seeking both sanctuary and medical attention.