“Your battery is dead.”

There was a time when Jonda would’ve taken the time to correct the man’s idiotic statement and explain that any skilled mechanic could tell–by the staticky whir and the whiff of smoke–that this was clearly a starter issue. There was a time when she might have been annoyed at the overly-familiar way his eyes loitered at her neckline. There was a time when she never would have considered a man like him–for his coarse patina of facial hair and the wayward wave of his untidy hair. But that was before 99.7% of the men in the world had succumbed to the flu. She made further measure of his prospects, scanning the uniform curve of his fingernails.

“You might be right,” she said at last. Her eyes lifted to the glassine shimmer of his eyes. “Maybe you could take a look at it.”

—

149 words. This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.

Sometimes when ideas are tumbling around in my head, and I’m trying to come up with a story, one thought leads to another. Suddenly, I realize I’ve killed off 99.7% of the men in the world.

I guess whether this story is dystopian or utopian depends on your perspective 😉 It does prove Man Flu is a thing–and those guys weren’t kidding when they claimed it was much worse for them.

From here it was impossible to tell where the old school was—or any of the old places for that matter. The beach where we’d once plucked sea glass from the shore was lost in the early twenties, and the seafront stores were gone by ’25. Those places were lost in that rage of storms that came so hard and fast—each one building steam upon the last—that there was barely time to give them names before another came along. It gobbled them up, block by block, then spat the splinters to the sea.

Our little yellow bungalow, twelve blocks from the ocean. Then ten. Then two. And now…I used my oar to push us off the chimney.

“Where we gonna live?” Abebi asked.

“I dunno, baby girl.” I started to row. What did borders mean to an ocean? What was one man to a swelling sea?

—

149 words. This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own, click here.

I have taken the liberty of not being very literal about the location of this week’s prompt, and instead let the sight inspire me. When I plopped down, this is the first place I landed. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the sort of sight we’d start to see more and more.

Let’s hope not.

He thumbed through the guidebook, flipping it open to a dozen dog-eared pages and pointing. “There’s Snake River loop, Trout Lake trail, Purple Mountain climb, Lost Lake hike. Which trail do you want to do first?”

She shot him one of her are-you-kidding-me looks. “I’m on vacation. I didn’t come out here to exercise.”

After the bison burger and cheesecake at the Old Faithful Inn, she sat back with a smirk. “Okay, I’ll walk. But I’m only doing three miles. Not one single step more.”

Three-quarters of the way around, he froze on the trail, spreading his arms wide to block her path.

“What? What is it?”

“A bear.”

She snorted, pushing past him. “No, seriously. What is it?”

Her mouth fell open at the sight of the grizzly grousing at a rotting log. Back-stepping, she whispered, “Who’s up for a three-mile hike back the way we came?”

—

148 words

This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.

“The signal’s even worse at the pool,” he said, slamming the hotel door shut behind him.

She sauntered out of the bathroom. She’d been assembling one of her poolside outfits. “Oh no, dear. That’s terrible.”

He grunted. “Wouldn’t matter anyway. The way the signal keeps dropping, there’d be no logging into meetings.”

She placed a hand on the doorframe to balance herself and lifted one knee. “Do you think these sandals are silly for the pool?” She waved one manicured foot side to side.

They were absurdly strappy and teeteringly tall. A ridiculous thing to totter around the pool in. The steep tilt of the foot-bed brought out the curve of her calves. His eyes traveled up, past the toney dimple of her knees, to the lush curve of thigh that disappeared behind the hem of her coverup.

He smiled, his voice hoarse. “Maybe no internet is a good thing.”

—

150 words

This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.

 

Bella stroked the phone screen, zooming in on the satellite view of the reservoir.

To me, the lake had always looked like a giant’s hand giving the thumbs up. Once I’d seen it on a map, it was hard to shake.

“Do you see it?” she asked. Her finger hovered over the smeary place on the screen.

I saw the lake. I saw the voluptuous curve of road that traced its shore. “What am I supposed to see? You mean the car driving north?”

“Not that car,” she said. “I mean that car. In the lake. Her car.”

“What?”

I grabbed the phone from her and squinted.

There it was, in the lake—whatever it was. A rectangle, fifty yards from shore, several shades lighter than the moss-green water.

“Well?” she asked, taking her phone back.

I shrugged and cleared my throat. “I suppose it could be.”

—
147 Words

This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.