Somewhere in Iowa © Google Maps

The farm crisis that started in 1980 and the extinction of the family farm is a subject near to my heart. It is a topic very difficult to fit into 150-words. Here’s one try:

—

“Maybe we could sell the tractor,” she said.

Selling the tractor would pay the mortgage on a field they couldn’t farm without it. He shook his head. “We’ll figure something out.”

Out the kitchen window, the broken bronze stalks of last summer’s corn waded in a thin skim of snow. The money from the harvest was long spent. Maybe sell the south forty, he thought. It was higher up and dry most years. They’d still have the rich eighty by the river.

But what if it flooded? What if next year’s crop was just as poor—what then? What would be left of his grandfather’s farm if he had to cut off a piece of it for every bad year? He never should’ve gotten the mortgage.

Eddie flung his sippy cup from his high chair and gurgled.

Insurance money, he decided. He stood. “I’m going out to the barn.”

—

149 words

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

Namie, Fukashima Japan © Google Maps

Jankuman pedaled his three-wheel bike down the deserted street, excitement growing. Yesterday he’d found a fluffy bear and a child’s metal lunchbox. The day before, he’d come upon a weathered book with a dog-eared page, abandoned at the deserted stationhouse. He’d run his fingers along the words, breathless.

Just a week earlier, he’d peered through a scrim of old weather on an apartment glass, and seen a table set for four: with cups, and bowls, and one fat spoon. The only problem being that such a find could not be carried back in the basket of his bike. Such riches a man like him had never dreamed.

“You have to leave,” cityman told him. And so he’d learned to hide when the itachiman prowled the streets.

All the salarymen gone; taken every honorable wife—and all their playday children. And what was left: such riches!

He’d never felt so close.

—

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.

This week I wanted to write poetry. I’m always moved by abandoned spaces. But alas, it came out too grim. So prose instead… about a man who may be part poet, part mad. As always, thanks for reading.

In other news: I completed Nanowrimo! BFNever is 63,000+ (largely incomprehensible) words. I’ve basically completed the dumpster fire of literature.

Isle of Wight © Google Maps Mateusz Baran

When she remembered the holiday, she always remembered the same things: the ferry ride over, the sprawl of countryside on the drive out, and the way the irregular fields were stitched with rows of trees. But when she tried to remember the castle itself, she couldn’t recall a single detail.

There were pictures, to be sure. She swiped her thumb across her phone screen, paging through them. Generic pictures: the royal bedroom, the chamber organ, the Nash clock.

They were nothing like the sort of pictures she normally took. These were the soulless stills of a promotional brochure. Where were the candid shots of Dominic? The forced perspective at the turret? Why no shameless selfie beneath the iconic arched entry?

“Don’t you remember, love? We played the bowls. You had the walnut cake in the tearoom. Don’t you remember?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

But the thing was, she didn’t.

—

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’m always in trouble when I read other’s takes before writing my own. After reading the fine story by J Hardy Carroll, I just couldn’t shake the whole alien abduction thing! I apologize for the pale rehashing.

I’m on to Nanowrimo–I’m at about 46,000 words and counting.

San José el Huayate, Chiapas, Mexico © Google Maps

The intercepted photos had no identifying information. An anonymous hotel, the man’s face fuzzed. But there was something in the photo that caught Detective Cotti’s eye.

She zoomed in on the sliver of landscape between the motel curtains, just behind the girl’s haunted stare. Cerulean sky, beige sand, and in between—the weathered gray of a thatched roof. A palapa.

“Can you enhance this?” she asked.

“Chamaedorea palm,” the inspector said. “Native to Guatemala and Mexico.”

From there, Cotti narrowed it down to Pacific shore, further south than Oaxaca, and north of Tapachula, based on the dun color of the wide beach.

From Acapulco, she worked her way down the coast. At each seaside hacienda, she’d park, walk the shore, looking for a match. She was closing in, she could feel it. She parked, checked her weapon, and started down the beach.

She’d find the girl. She’d bring her home.

==

150 words

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

Parthenon, Athens, Greece © Google Maps photo orb by Rachel Malloy

It wasn’t just the fact that Tad had flirted with the waitress at the reception, or that he’d vanished for nearly five hours without explanation when they docked in Salerno.

“He’s only marrying you for your money,” her best friend had cautioned. It appeared she was right.

Ellie tripped and stubbed her toe on a rocky outcrop.

“Klutz,” he snorted. Tad walked away, toward the Parthenon, his eyes on a willowy blonde who was snapping photos.

She bent down to inspect her toe. Not bleeding, at least. Beside it was a smoothly polished oval stone. She turned it over to find an engraved arrow.

“Cupid’s dart” a voice said.

She looked up, startled. It was one of those tall, handsome Greeks, this one with with tarragon eyes. “Looks like true love has found you,” he said.

“Not likely.” She glanced at the stone, then back up. Or maybe, it had.

—

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.

Thanks Georgie Moon, for the great location suggestion this week. Greece has always seemed the most romantic of getaways, so I couldn’t resist writing a romance (of sorts).

For anyone interested/wondering about my Women of Courage articles, I’m taking a brief hiatus during the month of November so as to complete the first draft of my latest novel Best Friends for Never. I should be back on track in December.

Thanks for stopping by!

Karen