I urge people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow my story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (provide translation please 
). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph has been reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr.
I did not know who he was. The man held strange, rigid tools or weapons. Incoherent mumbling ran from his thin lips. His skin was blinding white, his eyes were a murky green. His gaze held a strange sadness, sadness for me. There was barely any dirt on his bodies yet I was covered. Who was he? He did not belong here. His frail fingers reached for me and I hissed, smacking his hand away. My people told me how my father had been one of these white monsters, that was why my eyes were blue like the sky. My people had told me that the outsiders would try to steal me, they wanted to exploit the women of our tribe and defeat the men. I would defeat him instead.
- Ermisenda Alvarez
As long as Nakala had lived in the jungle there had been good animals and bad animals. He rarely saw a bird steal something from a chimpanzee but the opposite could not be said with any conviction whatsoever. Of course, it wasn’t like crime and violence were rampant. It just kind of “happened”. Most of the time the culprits were known. No one ever spoke of it but there was a common understanding that you didn’t go near the liana-choked trees after dark. But one day, Nakala had had enough of the wonton behavior that was eating at the very soul of the jungle he called his home. With that, he started to think. HOW? Anonymity would have to be key. But how to hide his true identity? A costume? No. Where would he get a costume without the others knowing? Nakala knew the eyes were the window to the soul. He didn’t know how he knew this; he just “knew”. Without thinking any longer, he dipped his fingers in the babbling stream near his home and coated them with ash. Blackening his eyes in ever denser strokes, his identity was soon a mystery even to him. His soul was transmigrated and Nakala no longer existed. Had he ever existed? From that day the legend of the Shadow Panther began. None of the animals ever had a clear view of the Shadow Panther but knew that their protector dwelled just beyond the shadows,poised, waiting to rectify wrongs. No one ever questioned what had happened to Nakala. Perhaps he had always been the Shadow Panther and Nakala had never existed except in his own consciousness…
Ooh! I loved that “Shadow Panther”! Great take on the prompt. I really enjoyed it. Blessings, Terri
This is a great contribution. You conveyed a good story about the Shadow Panther in a limited space. The final sentence is particularly strong. Hope to see you next week!
That is wisdom, with pooling, welling eyes. No scruff on my face, wisdom is simple. It is a youthful outlook, a knowing stare, a spirited state.
Wisdom’s black around the eyes, smudged and savage, an anti-child. Ask it a question, and it withdraws, answering in the charged silence.
So absorb it, now and without question. Give it the reins, let it frost all through your blood. That is wisdom–angelic, singing icicles.
Nice! I always like reading the different takes on these every week. Blessings, Terri
Beautiful! Thanks for contributing, I loved this part ‘let it frost all through your blood’.
The man held up his hands, as if to pacify me, but I had been taught well by my elders: Never trust strangers, especially a white one. He took off his backpack, hung the odd and bulky contraption he held around his neck and started to pull out something from within.
I was curious but wary and so skittered back a few feet. The man stopped mid-motion and raised his head to direct those sad eyes at me again. Why was he sad? I knew not and didn’t wish to know since he wasn’t one of us.
The man took out a square packet from inside his bag and held it out to me. I had seen others like him eating out of these when they came around our huts and directed towards us similar contraptions to the one the man in front of me had.
I shook my head. Did he think I would trust anything he gave me? He could have his poison. I would have my mother’s root soup again today, I didn’t like it but it was better than having whatever the man was extending towards me.
He started to come forward and offer me again but stopped when I skittered back some more. He held up his hands in surrender, I liked that, and returned the packet from where it had come earlier.
And then he raised the bulky object around his neck and focused it on me. I was truly frightened now. The elders had warned us never to look at them straight. They were said to steal souls and hold them captive on paper.
The man uttered some odd words that held an encouraging tone but I didn’t look at him or his malicious ware. I wouldn’t be trapped. But when he started to come around to face me again, I threw the dirt I had collected in my fist in case. I ran off after that with a feeling of exhilaration at having thwarted the white man. I was truly a male of my tribe…
Excellent story! I liked the last line, “I was truly a male of my tribe…” Great visualization. Blessings, Terri
Thanks for contributing so much this week. A great story was conveyed. This was great ‘They were said to steal souls and hold them captive on paper’.
Well, here is my offering for the week: http://terri0729.wordpress.com/2011/10/16/when-defeated/
hope you like it!
Awesome poem. I liked how you were inspired by Cortez. It definitely gave the poem a specific direction. The last stanza was fantastic. Thanks for contributing and sharing your lovely comments!
“your eyes reflecting the sky
nice thing to admire.
your skin made of earth,
so soft,
i wanna touch.”
i love your site! very beautiful, nice stuffs!
Thank you. Short and sweet contribution. ‘Your skin made of earth, so soft’ that was a great touch. Hope to see you next week!
thanks! i’m glad to make part in it!
I liked that touch too!! Very nicely done. Blessings, Terri
thanks, terri!
cheers!
I couldn’t on help think, how I became to be disgraced. I wore the markings of shame, a black banner inked across my face. It showed that I had wrong my people and that I had been exiled.
I wore these markings with pride.
I wore these markings with my head held high because I knew I had done the right thing.
As I had grown up I became aware that the “rituals” of my tribe felt wrong. They would invade the neighbouring villages and rape and pillage. They would burn down the houses and steal the food from their already meager stores.
I understood the need for survival, but surely we could have befriended the other tribes. I mean even stealing the food stealthily would have been better. But killing and defiling innocents, that was different. They couldn’t see it but I could feel it in my gut it was wrong.
I spoke out against my tribes chief, he called me a fool and it was the way of the tribe. “Live how we please, take what we please. Live happily.” Why should we struggle? He would say. We are better than them they, he would say. He was not one to hurt one of their own blood, instead I was exiled.
So now I wander alone. I survive. I am proud.
Love the moral flavor you put in your story! Very good job, I really enjoyed it. Blessings, Terri
Thanks for contributing to another week of Picture it & write. The last three sentences really stand out, they impact is strong.
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Well, here’s my little paragraph:
And for a moment we stared at each other, our eyes locked by some strange metaphysical bond. All I could see was his face, but I needed nothing else. It was more than a beautiful sight; his eyes were a magical blue with hidden sparks swimming in deep irises. His skin was a tarnished gold, shining brighter under the moonlight than in the middle of the day. He was from another world, he was not true. After a brief moment his fingers touched the corners of my lips and he softly whispered:
“may I have a kiss?”
Cool! Nice twist, I didn’t see the “may I have a kiss?” coming. Nice job. Blessings, Terri
A lovely romantic post. This part was great ‘his eyes were a magical blue with hidden sparks swimming in deep irises’. Fantastic work.
I also thought that the photo had potential for a romantic lead. Perhaps especially because he/she is out of this world!
The eyes told the story of an age lost in time
An age where humanities recklessness had begun its fateful decline
The marking on his body bore witness of the past
A culture shocked by heartache, a sweeping blow ever fast
His grimy face told of his fight for survival day by day
Pressure from the outside world conspiring against his tribe’s ways
And in the shadow of the forest, the distilled harmony of life
His presence bore a semblance to the aspect of mortal strife
For though one is different, though one may be of opposing creed
Their ideology is not a target for you to supersede
Thanks for sharing! I liked the strength of the first two sentences. Beautiful poem! Hope to see you share your talent with us again.
Logan, incredible. You are so talented!
Sorry I don’t have a little more time for this… Mom’s Mascara
Beautiful! I loved it. It wasn’t what I was expecting but you conveyed a brilliant story in a limited space. Hope to see you next week!
“!t wasn’t what I expected.” Those are the magic words! Thank you and thanks again for another inspiring picture!
Very good poem! I loved the last verse especially “a target for you to supersede” – great line!! Blessings, Terri
Spiteful spirits escape from her eyes.
The black shade is the bounds that ties
her to the dark history, it tells
the story of a whirpool of sorrow.
Shhhh, the sound of her
feelings getting flushed away.
A lovely poem! I loved this part ‘spiteful spirits escape from her eyes’. Hope to see you next week Otheus!
Ohh she’s like a mournful witch! I like the ‘whirlpool of sorrow’ line, that’s very evocative.
Child? Young man? A lady? I couldn’t tell. All I could see were the eyes, so innocent, yet so haunted; they looked into mine, searching for something… who i was… what I was. I couldn’t speak. I felt the earth around me and knew I was still in the forest. The eyes comforted me and then it went dark again…
Not great but I felt I needed to contribute as i had visited the site (didn’t want to be rude:) ) Great idea
Love the image
Thanks for not being rude (haha) and contributing. I really liked the uncertainty the individual is feeling towards this stranger. I like ‘the eyes comforted me and then it went dark again…’ Hope to see you next week.
It’s a great entry! I like to read about the uncertainty of the visualiser, and it’s interesting that you thought of the forest, somehow that clarity in the eyes does evoke nature. Well done.
I am very sorry I am late. I had to do some other work, and then I needed to do some research to make sure I get my facts straight. I like to make reality poems as close to reality as possible. But because it is so long I have posted it on my site at http://nightlysky.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/dancenomore/
It is never too late to contribute and thank you for doing so! I really liked how you incorporated history into your poem, it provided further depth. It makes you realise how many horrible pages of history exist and are often forgotten. This was a lovely touch ‘In that mourning of 1890,’ Hope to see you next week!
Chilling Blue Eyes.
Cold, sharp, alive.
Shifting, twisting, giving way to new worlds.
Imaginations.
Phantoms, dreams.
Things I can almost see.
His name I do not know.
A painted, stricken, battered man.
He holds his weapon, very tight.
Ridged tendons within his arms,
Eyes blue, spread, shining white.
He holds his weapon and into his eyes I stare.
Crystal blue, total truth, pure, they drive into my being.
I pull the trigger,
Ignite black powder.
The vivid picture is no more.
Fantastic. This was a great contribution. I really liked the structure of your poem. Using three stand alone sentences at the end really emphasised the impact of your story. Hope to see you next week!
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Hi Ermilia,
What a fabulous image, thank you so much for the reminder. I felt inspired by the power in this woman’s eyes!
Here is the link for my post.
http://wp.me/p1FSkb-2z
A great contribution doubledynamite! I loved this line ‘In her face I could see mirrors facing mirrors, reflection on reflections, and time s t r e t c h e d.’ I thought it was very creative to literally “stretch” out the word. I thought your different take on the image, a club scene, was a fresh change. This is why I love Picture it & write. So many perspectives, so many stories to tell! Hope to see you the coming Sunday again.
They didn’t believe me.
At night the door opened. Always off to the right where there was no door, only a wall with a painting.
I heard the door shut. Afterwards the demon walked by the foot of my bed. He was tall and resembled a James Bond actor. But when he looked at me his face contorted into a terrible grimace, a quivering monstrosity.
I shot white light towards the demon. I wasn’t afraid, just curious and ready for battle.
My parents laughed at me when I told them about the door and the demon. “Evil doesn’t exist,” they said. “You watch too many scary movies, kid.”
So I put my war paint on. The Holy Water sits on my nightstand. Tonight we talk, Demon and I. Tonight the light from my eyes banishes him.
Countless dark forces crawl our planet. Legions. Nobody sees. Nobody believes.
Thanks for contributing to this week’s Picture it & write. I loved your different perspective on what the black band around his/her eyes represented. This was a great touch ‘Tonight the light from my eyes banishes him.’ I hope to see you again for the next Picture it & write on Sunday.