“Let it slip from your shoulder my kleine bruid.”

Helene blushed. The negotiations had begun an hour ago, leaving her petticoats in a pile on the divan, her corset slung over the chair, and her red dress on the floor beneath her like a rug. Only the fur was left.

“But husband, people will see this painting. The Janssens. The Duponts. The mayor.” Her breath hung in a cloud in the chilly studio.

He tilted around the easel to peer at her. “Indeed. And when the Lady Janssens’s raven tresses have gone gray, when the mayor’s bones have turned to dust in his grave, and when the mortar has crumbled on the Dupont château, and the last stone falls, you will still be fresh as dew. You will forever be the meadow bloom of the sweetest May morning. You will be immortal.”

She let the coat fall to her waist.

—

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.

Rubens spent the last ten years of his life in Belgium, where this photo of his second wife was painted. This was my attempt to decipher curious mix of wonder and triumph in her face.

Htauk Kyant War Memorial Cemetery, Myanmar | Yaozai Huang, Google Maps

He woke up, the bed sheets damp beneath him. He sat up. Outside, the full moon glared through the window.

Some dreams fell away upon waking like a child’s sandcastle at high tide. But some dreams perch at the foot of one’s bed like a fishwife.

When they’d relocated the ghosts from Tatkon, he’d known it would be challenging. Ghosts, as a rule, were difficult—always wanting to ride front, and often playing pranks with the vehicle’s electrical system. They were vain, they were tricksters, they were quick to take offense. But the worst thing you could do to a ghost was forget it.

He pushed the covers aside and reached for his pants. He must call the natsaya. They must get to the cemetery immediately.

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126 words

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

This story was inspired by What Happened to Myanmar’s Ghosts. Apparently, in Myanmar, ghost relocation is a thing!

BSA Big Munson Island – Front Yard – Sargassum Beach CTS | Peter Khor

“Look, it’s a sea cucumber.” She grinned, a fisherman’s net of wrinkles cast across each cheek.

Before I could wade my way out, she’d lowered the creature into the shallows and let it rest in the sea grass. Then she was off, squinting up at the sun before splashing into another inlet, her bare legs freckled with age. She sported a skirted-swimming suit and a hat with a brim wider than Calusa Beach.

I could barely keep up with her. She knew the name of every sea star and prickly urchin that ever stitched its way through the shoals of Coupon Bight. She pulled up each kind in turn, greeting them like snowbirds in November, turning their bellies up to marvel at their workings.

“Once I had a nurse shark swim right between my legs,” she said for no reason.

She had a million stories and I believed them all.

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150 words

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

This little vignette was inspired by my former mother-in-law, a woman as fearless as she is joyful. The woman has a Carolina drawl sweeter than southern comfort and twice as intoxicating. What a delightful woman, I miss her still.

Mahseer fish

The fourth dragon prince sat, his bare feet dangling from the dock. He had traveled the world and been educated in the finest schools, but in all his experience, there was no greater joy than the glimpse of the gold-plated scales of the mahseer from the depths of the Manas. It was good luck to see one.

Tomorrow he would be king, and he must be a good king.

He had learned much about the world, the industries and economies. Yet what was the measure of success? Was it wealth? Was it growth? For it seemed to him where there were riches, there was also poverty. No, there had to be a better measure.

And then he saw it in the same instant: the fish and the answer. Such was not the way of happiness. No happiness was a thing as contagious as cough, but as satisfying as ema datshi.

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150 words

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

It’s great to see everyone this week! Looking forward to getting around and reading everyone’s stories.

When I selected Bhutan for the destination this week, I knew nothing about it. I was delighted by the things I learned, especially the Fourth Dragon King of Bhutan and the concept of Gross National Happiness.