Welcome to Picture it & Write, a weekly creative writing prompt here on ErmiliaBlog. I invite people to join in to our creative writing prompt. 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 (please provide a translation).
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.
Heat surrounds us. My two sisters and I hear whispers, one sided conversations, prayers. People think we have a loom, a thread, sharp scissors. Snip. Ignorance. Our world is not one of colors and pictures, of tapestries and stories. Our world is one of light we cannot see.
We hear the screech of tires, smell alcohol amongst the smoke. The three of us converge on a set of candles and wait. We watch without ever seeing. I purse my lips. Whoosh. Someone’s light is blown out.
–Eliabeth Hawthorne
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Ermilia 
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Nice vew of the fates Elia, very well done. Here is mine. Heads up, some of the descriptions may be distressing https://joe2stories.wordpress.com/2015/11/22/she-prayed/
Joe
Wow, very emotional.
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Here is my response to your unusual prompt Eliabeth ~
https://johnandmargaret1607.wordpress.com/2015/11/23/picture-it-and-write-fumigation/
I love that it read like a song or canto in a play. Beautifully written.
My contribution for the picture prompt:
http://scraps-from-life.blogspot.in/2015/11/firelight.html?m=1
Beautiful 🙂
The candlelight dances across darkness keeping watch over those who sleep. Their soft vigil burning, a beacon of warmth through the blackest of nights. To bring comfort to those who are alone, solace to those who mourn. The serenity of their silence from the flicker of their flame is plenty to sooth a savage soul. No one dare deface the memory until grey morning comes.
I love the idea of candlelight watching over the sleeping. Wonderful descriptions.
The doors to the cathedral were open, but it was as if they had slammed shut behind me – each non-existent echo in this grand hall forcing me a step at a time toward the inferno. My hand fumbled in my pocket. Indolence erased invisible sound. Where was my lighter? I panicked! The walls of the church became cement in my veins and I stood for a moment, petrified by foolishness. In that moment, one candle mattered more than all of them, but my inability to light a single one shone upon a truth beyond them all.