A Challenge for Writers - Describe these eyes

[Rumple Foreskin]

We celebrated one Canadian female yesterday, today another one gets the attention.

Here's the challenge: read the news account, examine the phote that follows, then imagine she's one of your characters, and describe her eyes.

Rumple Foreskin

--

Hearing Held for Notorious Canada Inmate

By PHIL COUVRETTE, Associated Press Writer
Thu Jun 2,10:56 AM ET

JOLIETTE, Quebec - Canada's most notorious female inmate, who has completed most of her 12-year prison sentence in the slayings of two teenagers, appeared Thursday at a hearing where authorities will try to restrict her freedom once she is released.

Karla Homolka pleaded guilty to manslaughter in 1993 in the sex slayings of Leslie Mahaffy and Kristen French and is set for release from a Quebec prison July 5, although federal guidelines may allow her to be freed as early as June 23.

The appearance at the Quebec Superior Court was the first in public for Homolka, 35, since she went to prison. She was escorted into the courthouse in a police van, said Benoit Richard, a police officer in Joliette, 50 miles north of Montreal.

Homolka got a reduced sentence by testifying against her ex-husband, Paul Bernardo, at his murder trial. He is serving a life sentence.

As part of the plea agreement, she was not charged in the death of her younger sister, 15-year-old Tammy Homolka, who died in 1990 after choking on her own vomit after she was drugged and raped by the couple.

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-12/909970/killereyes.jpg

 

[mlady_france]

As Tammy walk out onto the cold pavement of the court house steps, I could not help but notice her sharply pointed eyes. They stared off blankly showing her lack of concern for the crimes she had committed. If the eyes are the window to one’s soul, then her eyes showed an empty house.

 

[TheEarl]

The sullen cast of her face caught my gaze and our eyes locked for a second. Heavy eyelids hooded startlingly green irises, giving her a feline appearance. They would be astoundingly pretty if it wasn't for the glower that lurked just below the surface. Her stare was cold, impersonal and curt and I looked away, feeling a involuntary shiver go through my body.

The Earl

 

[SeaCat]

Taking in a deep breath I settled my cheek to the stock while peering through the scope. As she turned my finger gently took up the slack in the trigger. She stood at the top of the stais looking around, not noticing my crosshairs settled between her eyes. Those eyes, they were what saved me. Looking through the scope at her hooded Opaline Green eyes I couldn't help but stare. Lusterless, dead, a killers eyes. By looking into them you could see just how much humanity was left alive inside. Shuddering I pulled my eyes away from the scope and lowered the rifle while safeing it. I couldn't bear the thought of my childrens father looking at their graves through eyes as meerciless as hers. Turning I walked away.

Cat

 

[Guest]

She was cheerleader blonde, sweetly coifed, little tendrils trickling in front of her delicate ears. As I walked toward her I noticed her warmly blushing cheeks, her gentle features, her full lips. I hurried my pace because I couldn’t wait to meet this beautiful woman.

It appeared as if she was leaving so I shouted to get her attention. She turned slightly then and I felt her cold gaze upon my face. As she glared at me (my God those eyes are full of hate) beneath lowered lashes I stopped, confused, suddenly not knowing what to say. Her lips pouted impatiently before she turned with a sneer and continued on her way. I suppressed a shudder, barely, as I watched her leave. I felt as if I had escaped a death sentence.

 

[Xelebes]

A loathing gaze at the justice she cannot see.

 

[wishfulthinking]

Those eyes, half hidden beneath the sweep of dark lashes, promised lethal sex.

 

[scheherazade_79]

She turned to look at me, her eyes green, smouldering and intoxicated by her own evil.

 

[SensualCealy]

DEAD!

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

DEAD!

Cealy,

That was my exact reaction. I'd heard of "dead eyes" but those seemed to epitomize the term.

Rumple Foreskin

 

[Colleen Thomas]

It has often been said the eyes are the windows to the soul. For days after our chance encounter I couldn't get hers out of my mind. If the saying is true, then I have met evil incarnate. I can still see them, green, close set, under malevolent brows, but the thing that still causes me to shudder , to wake in a cold sweat to cry is the flatness they displayed. Devoid of caring, of compassion or anything. In them, I azed through a window to the void.

 

[Alex De Kok]

Not sure if 'reflecting' is the right word, but couldn't think of another, so -

Her lips quirked, but her eyes were pools of dark emptiness reflecting the shadow of her soul

Alex

PS: Now to read the others!

 

[silverwhisper]

i'm replying w/out having read the article or the other responses...

her hair was without flaw, her complexion without blemish, but her eyes without a soul.

ed

 

[tkinsc]

A friend met her and Paul in Simcoe in the early nineties, and thought she seemed nice. Little did anyone know that she had followed her husband into becoming a vicious murderer.

Now, as I gaze into her eyes, I do not see a beautiful young woman aged 12 years. Instead, I recall the horror of the murders, and remember wondering how she could have done that to the girls, especially her own sister. Behind her cold, green eyes, I see only a soulless killer, hoping to be releases, plotting her next move.

 

[jill999]

The image of Tammy's dead body still reflected from Karla's emerald green eyes. The reflection was cold and stark and perfectly depicted the soul of her heartless older sister. She stood over her sister's lifeless body and could only think of how she needed to dispose of her remains.

 

[Lucifer_Carroll]

Paul walked up the road, shuffling in his coat to move out of the cold. He looked ahead. Standing there was a blonde woman. He wouldn't have bothered with a second look, but there was something familiar about her. He looked again. She moved with a precision step, but her eyes were locked to some distant glint of the horizon.

Broken, he thought. Shivering slightly he continued. Another carbon copy of the woman passed her, triggering another flash of deja vu.

In fright and disgust, he ran up the road. Everywhere he looked, he saw the empty gazes of the carbon-copy blondes. All staring past him at some point at the horizon, all broken, and lifeless as mannequin cliches.

He ran faster and faster, but the blonde faces only seemed to multiply, surrounding him, suffocating him. He was knocked to the ground, but couldn't bring himself to stand up. He knew now who they were. He could remember. The days flashed across his mind for the first time. His past breaking the carefully laid walls of displaced blame. It choked him. The faces of the dead women he raped, the wife whose soul he had helped destroy, all of it.

Finally a hand on his shoulder saved him from his torment. In relief, he looked up smiling at his salvation. Whoever it was would tell him it wasn't his fault.

His eyes went wide as he stared at his wife's face once more. The eyes weren't at the horizon, they were into him. Caked with sin and the stench of death, she embraced him, and swallowed his head.

Paul awoke with a fright in his cell. All a dream, nothing to worry about. It was all that dead bitch's fault. He hadn't wanted to rape them. It was his wife. Yes, that was the case. He looked around the cell. It wasn't familiar. For one thing, he didn't remember a chess board next to his bed. He looked down at a solitary king and his opponent's queen bearing down on it. He looked up.

There was a smiling man in sunglasses and a red-brimmed hat which seemed to jut unnaturally in two spots. "Checkmate," he said to Paul and then left only stopping long enough to say, "Oh, and good game."

The next day the police found Paul in his cell, his eyes locked at some distant point of the horizon.

 

[Octavian]

She stared at me with both her eyes.

 

[Softouch911]

Outside, an ice floe shaped like Norway drifted by. It looked better than it felt in here. Inside of her, the little hours of night were a hollow tick of slower and slower motion. Her eyes said without feeling: "Fuck You."

 

[Octavian]

Are we allowed two attempts?

Her green eyes were as cold as…well something that is really cold; say ice, although ice is not really green, it’s more a sort of an opal. Perhaps a very cold frog?

 

[pornwriter]

The cold, cruel calaulating eyes of a killer.
Eyes like that of a big cat.
Sizeing up the pray, ready to pounce at just the right moment.
Another victim dispathed, digested and disgourged.

 

[moonlight elf]

My gaze meets hers and in them I saw nothing but emptiness and hate. Her green eyes were like a field wasted in winter, barren and lifeless.

 

[angelicminx]

How's this?


http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2004-12/909970/killereyes.jpg

Her eyes were evil and cold. One look could freeze a grown man in his tracks and leave him begging for mercy. Her prey didn’t have a chance in hell of eluding her when she set her sights on them. Lust filled her eyes and masked the hate as easy as closing a blind. The illusion of sanity had been perfected over the years, for she had learned that people only see what they wish to see. Most see her surface beauty, never thinking of anything beyond getting her into their bed. That was when she sprung her trap. She would kill a man, woman or child quick as a flash and never bat an eye. Medusa had been her idol while growing up and she learned her lessons well.

 

[angelicminx]

Paul walked up the road, shuffling in his coat to move out of the cold. He looked ahead. Standing there was a blonde woman. He wouldn't have bothered with a second look, but there was something familiar about her. He looked again. She moved with a precision step, but her eyes were locked to some distant glint of the horizon.

Broken, he thought. Shivering slightly he continued. Another carbon copy of the woman passed her, triggering another flash of deja vu.

In fright and disgust, he ran up the road. Everywhere he looked, he saw the empty gazes of the carbon-copy blondes. All staring past him at some point at the horizon, all broken, and lifeless as mannequin cliches.

He ran faster and faster, but the blonde faces only seemed to multiply, surrounding him, suffocating him. He was knocked to the ground, but couldn't bring himself to stand up. He knew now who they were. He could remember. The days flashed across his mind for the first time. His past breaking the carefully laid walls of displaced blame. It choked him. The faces of the dead women he raped, the wife whose soul he had helped destroy, all of it.

Finally a hand on his shoulder saved him from his torment. In relief, he looked up smiling at his salvation. Whoever it was would tell him it wasn't his fault.

His eyes went wide as he stared at his wife's face once more. The eyes weren't at the horizon, they were into him. Caked with sin and the stench of death, she embraced him, and swallowed his head.

Paul awoke with a fright in his cell. All a dream, nothing to worry about. It was all that dead bitch's fault. He hadn't wanted to rape them. It was his wife. Yes, that was the case. He looked around the cell. It wasn't familiar. For one thing, he didn't remember a chess board next to his bed. He looked down at a solitary king and his opponent's queen bearing down on it. He looked up.

There was a smiling man in sunglasses and a red-brimmed hat which seemed to jut unnaturally in two spots. "Checkmate," he said to Paul and then left only stopping long enough to say, "Oh, and good game."

The next day the police found Paul in his cell, his eyes locked at some distant point of the horizon.

OMG, I am in awe. Beautifully written. May I kiss your feet?

 

[Guest]

Her green eyes were as cold as…well something that is really cold; say ice, although ice is not really green, it’s more a sort of an opal. Perhaps a very cold frog?

Yes, a very cold frog. That truly speaks volumes.

(Think of the poor tadpoles!)


On the other hand, one look at that face easily brings to mind, "What a bitch."

 

[Rumple Foreskin]

Her green eyes were as cold as…well something that is really cold; say ice, although ice is not really green, it’s more a sort of an opal. Perhaps a very cold frog?

Octavian, I think you may have a contender for the Bulwer-Lytton bad first sentence contest.

LC, I agree with Minx, first-rate story-telling. IMHO, you need to submit it somewhere as a short story.

Rumple Foreskin