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Picture it & Write is a weekly creative writing exercise. We urge people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow our story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (please provide a translation). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph will be reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr and added to the Picture it & Write gallery on Facebook and Pinterest.

Celebrating the launch of our debut novel last March, each Picture it & Write this month is written using Blind Sight characters.

Please continue to write however you’re inspired, but add a tag to the beginning of your post if there’s mature content in order to keep Picture it & Write an engaging event for all of our followers.

Creak… tap-tap-tap… creak… clink. Odette kicked the gravel at her feet, moving back and forth on the swing so that every time she moved to the right, the metal triangle on her swing tapped against the swing next to her.

“What are you reading?” she asked as soon as she heard the soft rustle of a page being turned. Even though she was a few years his senior, she knew the answer would be over her head. Still, she was tired of the relative silence.

“Quantum Theory. How observation affects the nature of the observed,” William simplified. Even though his explanation had done nothing for her understanding, she appreciated that he never spoke down to her. While others babied her for being blind, he often spoke to her more like an adult than the teenager she was.

“When did you lose your parents?” It was the first time she had worked up the courage to ask him. They were sitting on the swings at the orphanage where he lived, the only place they hung out. Despite being friends for a few months now, she knew little about him aside from his clearly superior IQ.

“Which time?” The warm, conversational tone had turned cold and she felt the hairs on her arms stand erect, leaving raised bumps.

“Do you mean your foster parents?” Odette asked, not sure how else someone could lose their parents more than once.

“Something like that.” It was his cue to move to a different subject, so when she did not pick one, he decided to distract her. “Want me to braid your hair?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Like a giddy child, she sat between his legs, listening to the soft squeak of his rusty swing. Her brother raised her, played with her, and made sure she got into a good school, but there had been an unofficial line drawn at doing her hair. William ran his fingers through her sin kissed brown tresses. Gently untangling the ends, he began sectioning the top most hair into three sections, twisting and weaving in more hair as he went.

“Where did you learn to French braid?”

“I used to have sisters.” His grip on her hair became a little tighter.

“Did they get adopted?”

“Something like that.”

Eliabeth Hawthorne

Learn more about Blind Sight or purchase the books. Each volume is just 99 cents until the end of the month!

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