There’s something to be said for being an empath in an abandoned city.
It seems everywhere I step is full of energy, an oddity considering no one’s lived here for decades. The air still hangs thick, even on the cool days, it’s electrified. A man once asked me exactly what I saw in this old city.
You see, it’s not the fear. It’s not the energy expelled in those last few precious moments that binds me here. I think there’s something else, something more that leaked beneath the surface that day.
It’s the memories. It’s everything that ever was and everything that never could be. It’s every smell and slight wind blown treasure which was lost that day.
The energy from those moments, those dreams, those regrets ooze from the blades of grass and dying leaves. They hang in the air, waiting to stir.
That’s the energy binding me here.
Word Count: 150
A write up for What Pegman Saw, rules here and this weeks location, Pripyat, Ukraine.
I did not take this picture from google earth per the rules. It’s from this article.
I may be a little odd. I would kill to visit this location (not literally kill, despite what I write I wouldn’t do that). The pictures coming out of Pripyat have been amazing, the aura that leaks through them is palpable. I’d be terrified the entire time I was there but I would go in a heartbeat.
“Greetings from Montevideo!”
I write as neatly as I can across the postcard. I even think about slipping it into an envelope with a few pictures of my own.
A landscape shot here. Maybe the view from my office. It’s just the road but I find myself hoping you’re as curious about my life as I am about yours.
Maybe I’ll even slip in a photo of the twins. They’re six now but you never knew they were born.
I’ve never made it a habit to memorize the faces I make but I know I’m cringing.
Desperation, that’s what this smells like.
I turn the postcard over in my hands, even if I sent it completely anonymous … you’d know my writing from a mile away.
I’m sure it’d reek of wrinkled love poems and tear stained confessions.
It’d just become another love song you sing to another silly girl.
Word count: 149
Joining back in with What Pegman Saw this week. I haven’t participated in a couple of months I think. Rules are here and this weeks location is Montevideo, Uruguay
When I was small my mom took me on adventures, small escapes for our broken lives. Her favorite times were when we found soft chalky rocks.
“You can write with them!” Her smile was so beautiful as she scrawled across the red desert walls.
Small as I was, I bounced along beside her hoping for the chance to write my own manifesto. She laughed though her cheeks glistened in the sunlight.
“Of course, write your own! Then we have to go!”
I was always so proud of my small strange glyphs next to her perfect block lettering. I still remember them so clearly.
It’s a heavy world we carry today, I think Pegman sees it better than any.
I didn’t really understand when he brought me to the cave … Until he pressed a soft chalky rock into my hand and told me it’s where survivors can write their names.
Word Count: 150
This was written for the What Pegman Saw challenge, every week a location is picked and a story is written in 150 words or less. Rules here and this weeks location, The Big Cave, Palo Duro State Park, Texas
Mdina’s the silent city. Secrets it keeps, formed in corners and alleyways, hidden beneath the streets.
Pegman wanted to see the catacombs I’m sure, the little guy likes hanging out with dusty memories.
He rounded the corner and what did he find?
Two lovers under cover of shadows.
It was clear, he says, they knew one another though obvious enough they weren’t meant to be pinned against that cathedral wall together.
From what he could gather, the little dude could be a spy, it was her honeymoon but not with that guy.
He was some fly by the seat guitar playin’ hippie you see and she was daddy’s little princess, betrothed to a man of his “heavy influencing”.
She visits the old city in the summers now with a child named Paul. They journey the streets and she talks of memories.
But there’s one she won’t say, out loud anyway.
Word Count: 150
This was written for the What Pegman Saw challenge, every week a location is picked and a story is written in 150 words or less. Rules here and this weeks location, Mdina Malta.
I’ve been all around the world chasing that little guy. Let me tell you a thing or two, the guys got some secrets.
Just wonder, a guy who’s been spotted just about everywhere on god’s green earth? Why else would you hop from continent to continent like that?
Just ask him what went down at the Billinudgel Hotel between that Mr. and his wayward Mrs. Took them forever to clean the place up after … I don’t know what Mr. Pool-boy had been eating but it definitely stained the ceiling. The Mr. remained calm, even had a beer while Mr. Pool-boy’s pieces …
Well, maybe he won’t tell, that makes him an accomplice.
Maybe they pry it from the bastards dying lips so he’s an eye witness.
Either way, come a little closer, I’ll tell you something real.
Pegman didn’t see shit.
And me? It’s my job to keep it that way.
Word Count: 150
This is my first try at the What Pegman Saw challenge. I’ve seen a few other bloggers I follow participating and it seems interesting. Every week there’s a new place, based on Google street view. This week’s destination is The Billinudgel Hotel, NSW, Australia.
You can find rules here and this weeks destination here.