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 What Pegman Saw

The Art of Dying

There’s a certain beauty to life alone.
A certain finesse to the fine art of dying in no ones arms but your own.
I’ve lost count of the seconds slowly rolling into days.
Those things were never ours anyway.
It’s funny …
The noises your mind will come up with to keep time floating in oceans with little salt.
At first you know it’s just the children in your head playing.
Then you begin to doubt as shadows creep out.
Humans can die from any number of ailments …
A common cold to a lightening strike,
Historic rejection or morbid curiosity,
It’s what makes us the same.
At least that’s what they say.
Maybe I relied too much on silence in those days.

My shadows frolic through the roaring break.
They toss their hands to the wind
And dance the steps to heaven.
I don’t imagine they’ll let me live.


Word Count: 147

A write for
What Pegman Saw. This weeks location is St. Helena island. For more information and rules visit the link. To read more stories click the blue froggy below.

Art of Dying is also a song by George Harrison, not really much in common with this piece but still nice to listen to.

Posted in What Pegman Saw

Add Coffee

It’s day three. I still have not had coffee. My husband, my loving, sweet, honorable husband has had beer. 

Of course.

“We’re in Germany!” So he had beer.

I poked at my half eaten fish and stared daggers through him. I told myself I wouldn’t sleep until I came up with the perfect revenge; until I could wipe that smug look away. He thought he found the perfect out.

He drank while watching the football game.

“It’s tradition! We’re supposed to!”

That was day two of our stupid pact.  

Oh, but today is day three. Today is MY day.

And there is nothing my sweet, loving husband hates more than history.

Lucky me, Frankfurt Cathedral offers a three hour tour, chock full of history and led by the most boring priest. 

“We have to go! The history! But I think I’ll have some coffee to stay awake.”

For What Pegman Saw. This weeks location is Frankfurt, Germany

Word Count: 147


To read more click the blue froggy


Posted in What Pegman Saw

The Last Will and Testament of Jo

I, Josephine Whitlock
Being of sharp mind, contemptuous wit and shoddy body
Hereby declare
This is it.
This is where I want it to be. 
Endlessly facing every direction …
Reflecting on endless painted skies,
Delightfully wavering in every wisp of breeze,
Soaking in each tear drop of dew …
I want every man or woman,
Nay, every soul who tries to mow me down
With insistence that I’m nothing but a weed …
Tell them all
Where one bloom has been picked
Another will be.
This, right here, among mountains laid in childhood tales
And roads to scenic tourist highs
Shall be crested for eternity.
These crossroads of divination,
Leading not to heaven or hell,
These banks
Are where wildflowers thrive.
So scatter my ashes.
Plant me here.
And bring your children,
Your grandchildren,
Spin stories galore
But make sure they know
The stories of Old Wacky Jo.

Word Count: 149

After so, so very long not participating in What Pegman Saw I’m making an attempt this week. The location is Bridal Veil Falls, Utah.

As a side note: Is anyone else using this new editor layout and having trouble adjusting?

Posted in What Pegman Saw

Pirate Days – What Pegman Saw

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It was a real life pirate ship. Pedro couldn’t believe his eyes.

The group of children sprinted ahead of their parents and on board.

Everything was there, just like the stories. Pedro stood at the helm, letting the ocean breeze ruffle his hair.

“João, take the helm! Ana, you can be first mate!” Pedro’s friends snapped to attention.

“Aye, aye captain!”

João was an expert navigator and sailor.

“There’s a storm on the horizon.” Pedro pointed far out into the calm sea. “We have to get away. We have no choice but to sail into it. Can you do it?”

João squinted into the sunlight, his confidence never faltering. “Aye captain.”

“First mate get the crew ready! We’re sailing into rough seas.”

“Aye captain!” Ana, a shrewd and precise leader, barked orders to the remaining crew, “Batten down the hatches!”

It was a good day to be a pirate.

Word Count: 149

For What Pegman Saw. This weeks location, the Douro Valley of Portugal. I thought about having the conversational pieces of this in Portuguese but I don’t speak Portuguese and I only trust google translate so much. I opted to keep them in English but for fun read below for the google translate version of the conversation. 

“João, pegue o leme! Ana, você pode ser o primeiro companheiro!”

“Aye Aye capitão!”

“Há uma tempestade no horizonte. Temos que nos afastar. Não temos escolha a não ser velejar. Você pode fazer isso?”

“Sim capitão.”

“Primeiro companheiro prepare a tripulação! Estamos navegando em mar agitado.”

“Sim, capitão! Abrace as escotilhas!”

Posted in What Pegman Saw

Oh, Resolute – What Pegman Saw

“Welcome home.” My mom and dad grip me in one of those suffocating familial bear hugs. “Everyone has missed you.”

We trudge through the cold wind, even though it’s summer, with my bags hoisted on our backs.

The old man overseeing the general store waves, welcoming me home.

The twins, who could barely toddle when I left, run through my ankles giggling with their father hot on the trail.

My ex’s teen sister stares from their doorway.

Missing are the old man’s wife and my dad’s best man.

I swear my ex’s sister was practically glued to her best friend …

The same buildings, brimming with the same faces, stand squat against the skyline.

Impatiently I rap my mom’s shoulder, “I thought they were building here?”

“Oh.” With a wave she spreads gossip like butter on hot bread, “I can tell you what’s been new …”

But, oh Resolute, I remember you.

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Word Count: 150

This has been a post for What Pegman Saw, rules here and this weeks location, Resolute NU Canada

Please drop in and follow the little yellow man around the globe.

Posted in What Pegman Saw

Everything That Ever Was – What Pegman Saw

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.

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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.