Blind Sight # 3

Last Week’s Submission –  Picture it and Write – 2nd version Blind Sight

Thank you to Marisa Lyon for letting us use her great photograph for this week’s prompt.

For something a little different I have decided (for this weeks Picture it and Write photo prompt) to continue the story from last week.  Critique welcome.

“Walk with me”, she gently whispers.
“I am scared”, I reply.
“I am with you, no harm shall come to you, I promise, you must trust me”, her voice was soft and reassuring.
“I do trust you”.
Slowly I stood from my desk and felt my way along the edges with both hands, till I reached a corner.
“Ten steps to the door”, she said.
I counted out my ten paces.
“Now hold out your right hand and feel for the door, then you need to turn right”.
I ran my hand along the door frame then turned as she asked.
“Twelve steps, almost there”.
I counted twelve, with my hands outstretched I reached a wire door. A warm breeze hit my face which made me blink several times.
My hands felt along the cold metal, till I found the handle and opened the door to the outside world.
“Just a little further, you are doing wonderfully”.
I smiled.
“There are seven large steps now, slowly”.
I held onto the side rail and gingerly placed each foot. They were both cold and warm to the touch.
“Now walk to your left a little, about fifteen steps”.
I walked across what I assumed to be the grass, for it was slightly spongy and cool underfoot.

“There is a swing, a seat that moves back and forth, turn around, hold your hands up either side of you and grab tight to the ropes, then you need to sit on the seat”, she giggled.
I hesitated, but she would not let harm come to me, I felt for the seat, the ropes and turned my back to them. Wriggling one side to another I sat on the swing in my garden, the garden that I had never seen.
“Now move your body back and forth, push hard”, she tittered.
I arched backwards and then pushed my body forwards and I was swinging for the first time in my life.
A feeling I hadn’t felt before as the warm air touched my face, my bare legs and feet bending beneath and in front of me.

“When I ask you to draw with charcoal, tell me what do you see”? she asked.
“I only have darkness, you know that, I do not know of colour”, I replied.

There was silence between us,  I would never know the concept of colour. Never know the colour of trees, steps, grass or the sky.  My world would always be black.

I felt her sadness within my heart.

“Please, I whispered, don’t be, you are my guardian angel and if I draw only with charcoal and never know the marks that I leave on paper, I am content. For what I do not know, I will never miss”.

I lifted my head up, as I swung in the air and gave thanks for the breath that I inhaled, that I could see the world through her eyes and that my heart was beating.

For:

Apologies for the length of this submission…I couldn’t stop.

Picture it and Write – 2nd version Blind Sight

I have taken the challenge up once more (my paragraph in Italic) after being inspired by the photo and paragraph below from

My fingertips reflect the world back to me. What I cannot see, I feel, smell, taste, and hear. I feel shadows as I reach for the sun and smell the coming weather on the wind. I’ve never felt deprived of sight even though I’m blind, but sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At first, I felt nothing. There would be periods of my day missing; people actually accused me of drawing. At first I didn’t believe them, now I’m awake when I draw. Despite feeling shoved to the back while something else controls my movement, there’s a wave of serenity that keeps me calm. Am I crazy, or just weak? Everyone else has their magic under control.

She allows my hands to move, gesturing languid movements across the page, as if skimming finger tips over tranquil water. My eyes are open, staring to the distance, yet darkness is all that I am able to see. I ask though what is darkness,  if I have never witnessed light? She awakens the part of me that has slept since birth, encourages me, whispers that I can. I take hold of the charcoal, I draw. Am I the only one who shares with another? Those that cannot see the one that lives within, surely in their own way are also blind. For she talks to me and I answer gathering strength and together we face the coming weather on the wind.

I have not read this story – Blind Sight this is just my take, continuing from the paragraph read.

Picture it and Write – I am blind but still I see

From Picture it & Write gallery     the pic this week is stunning! 

This week I shall continue with the original theme with my own version from a post I wrote some time back ( you shall find in Poetry and Prose) ‎which I have altered slightly.  I have used a basic rhyming pattern. I hope it is worthy. My entry is in bold black.

My fingertips reflect the world back to me. What I cannot see, I feel, smell, taste, and hear. I feel shadows as I reach for the sun and smell the coming weather on the wind. I’ve never felt deprived of sight even though I’m blind, but sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At first, I felt nothing. There would be periods of my day missing; people actually accused me of drawing. At first I didn’t believe them, now I’m awake when I draw. Despite feeling shoved to the back while something else controls my movement, there’s a wave of serenity that keeps me calm. Am I crazy, or just weak? Everyone else has their magic under control.

I hold tulips as they start to unfold, hold the wedding ring and imagine what’s gold.
lift my face to the clouds that I’m told drift through the sky,  sadly miss the expressions of those that walk by
touch the leaves that curl brittle on trees, listen to buzzing from the hive made from bees

Fingers embrace spider webs lacy and glossy, hear as a mother shouts, finger pointed and bossy
imagine the stars on warm summer nights, though never to witness them sit in the sky
jump in the crest of the waves at the beach, set my goals high for things I can reach

Cannot see faces of those that smile wide, or the glow and the love on the face of a bride
can hug all the animals four legged or two, won’t see the lovers face that bids me adieu
painting butterfly wings coloured and frail, touch my words that are penned in braille

Visualise the flight of a woodland hawk, or the joy I would feel to see my child walk
I can feel shiny, the dull, old and the new, wet my fingers on blades in first morning dew
I grasp hold of tree trunks standing tall in the forests, run my fingers across sculptures and paintings of artists

I wish to see happiness in the faces of lovers, or stare into eyes of lonely street beggars
love I would feel sighting a newly born babe, I cannot have this, there is no escape
let me see those who share wealth with the poor, show me the sadness of those who yearn more

I feel the sunshine on a hot summers day, I feel the winter snow, slowly drifting away
I see things that the sighted do not see, is it a gift or simply just me…