Posted in What Pegman Saw

Nothing Ever Happens Here

One hundred and fifty.

That’s how many times I heard people utter it in the days following Jace Daniels murder.

“Nothing ever happens here.”

Mrs. Daniels let it escape between her fingers while she sobbed. News cameras panned the puffy eyes surrounding her but they gave nothing away.

My father slammed his fist on the table while yelling it to the wind. This new threat in his sleepy town sent his blood pressure soaring.

“God damn it! Nothing ever happens here!”

The fibers stitching our small high school together, always loose and frayed, seemed to become a quilted masterpiece overnight.

“We can’t let this divide us!” The principal clutched the microphone, prepared to impassion.

Candle light vigils. Twenty-four hour news cycles.

Everyone seemed to forget that town was made to swallow souls.

On day three I received my college acceptance letter.

Quietly, I stuffed my bloodied clothes in the fire pit.

Word Count: 150

For this weeks What Pegman Saw. The location is Radium Springs, GA

Posted in friday fictioneers

Knotted Hands

My grandfather planted this tree with roots poisoned after the war.
His father watered it, the seed which came before.
My father nurtured them, these roots of ruined fiber.
This tree grew ever higher.
Its fruit, rotting, my mother prepared for me.
She sweetened it, tried to soothe it down,
Nothing could disguise the smell of these roots rotting in the ground.
It falls to me, as this tree must be fed;
A living sacrifice of a life never lead.
I toss my children as far as I can;
Mutter the same empty words my mother offered
Over knotted hands.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Word Count: 100

A write for
Friday Fictioneers, roped in by Rochelle Wisoff Fields. I also think it’s Sunday (though I am not 100% sure). I’ve been writing my research proposal/thesis. I’m afraid I’m not good for much else right now.

Click the blue froggy to read more!

Posted in friday fictioneers

The Wild Things

The girls stared across the table at each other. Each clutched a brightly colored piece of paper in dirty fingers.
The warden tapped his watch.
“Which one’s it gonna be?”
Hana watched as her younger sister slowly unfolded her small pink slip. Janey’s face contorted into a silent victorious howl as she shot up from her old chair to take a lap around the room.
Hana slumped, defeated.
“Ok Hana, let’s go.”
“No!” Without thinking, Hana was up and running towards the muddy grass outside. “You’ll never take me alive!”

Her father groaned towards the sky, “It’s just a bath.”

PHOTO PROMPT © Priya Bajpal

Word Count: 100

A write for Rochelle’s weekly Friday Fictioneer’s. Thank you Rochelle for keeping it in line as always.

To read more click the blue froggy