Drawing the Character

The only sound in her ears was the soft music that had been on loop for three days, beneath the sound of the scratching pencil, ebbing slowly away at the paper. The eraser whiting out all the tiny mistakes, the flicking away of the rubbings, and a sip of warm water. Her hand was sore, her body cramped, but she had to finish. Just that one small section so she could continue easily with the rest later. It had to be perfect, refined. Each line had to share the same darkness and depth. And still the paper was getting worn in places. Sometimes she tried too much. As long as this would be the last time, no one would notice. A shading of a thumb, a finger, a wrist. Slowly the whole thing was coming alive, a person, a character. One she alone had created.

[145 words]