Jul. 23rd, 2010

hallelujahpilot: ([young] gertrude maria)
There is a table. On this table is a small girl lying on her stomach - she's maybe nine, maybe a bit older, maybe a bit younger. Bare-foot, but someone has straightened her shoulder-length black hair (the natural curls are staging a rebellion, with little kinks all over the place). Clothes are second-hand, worn and patched with dirt here and there, but the red jacket dumped on the table is sturdier.

She has two picture books open, and a large sketchpad. There are coloured pencils spread over the table, and she's busy drawing something. Humming and idly swinging one of her legs in the air.

(Plants, as it happens, mostly copying from the books - one is on Earth, the other Pandora)

There is also a name-tag on the table, the kind that kids wear on excusion, with their name spelled out in big simple letters. The tag read 'Gertrude C' when she'd been handed it, but the girl has crossed out the 'Ger' and tried to turn the last 'e' into a 'y'.

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Trudy Chacon

November 2011

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