Posted in what pegman saw

New Live Cemetery

Picture by Arch Angel Studios via Google


NEW LIVE CEMETERY

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

They swooped into this place looking for those silhouettes of raised arms. Their wings passed through trees, feathers and beaks as easily as they swept through space and time. But not stone. Somehow the slabs and towers of stone here inhibited their aerial dance.

Slapping sounds. Wet leather ripping open parched flesh. They wobbled in the air. They left iridescent marks on these gravestones. That’s when those rainbows blossomed momentarily. Always momentarily. But enough. Enough time to right themselves. Now their wings shimmered while from their rainbow-laced bodies arms extended. So many arms. So many dazzling hands of all shapes and sizes reaching out for those silhouettes of raised arms. Arms like stone. Rusting chains rattled, chains binding wrists, necks and ankles.

Swiftly they pulled this blackness into their light. Their iridescent light that faded in the blink of an eye. All this happened in the blink of my disbelieving eye.

 (150 words)


The above story was written in response to the What Pegman Saw prompt, which this week took us to:

Selma, Alabama

You are warmly invited to the Inlinkz link party to read other globetrotting contributors’  stories inspired by this week’s prompt.

Click here to enter

Author:

First and foremost I am a reader, then a storyteller. My reading tastes are eclectic. My writing can focus around the intimacy of closed settings and may tend towards characters who might be hiding something from themselves.

18 thoughts on “New Live Cemetery

      1. I think the imagery helps with the emotional depth. But I agree, it’s very hard to get across much — much less something subtle — in these micro pieces. It’s something I struggle with too.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. I’ve missed you Kelvin! Great to see you back. Loved the vivid writing of this evocative piece. The precise word choice really makes this piece stand out. The ghosts of slavery past slumber uneasily, it seems.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful, Kelvin, in execution and sentiment. The idea that slaves should meet their Creator or somehow be swept up into iridescence before all others–perhaps to the exclusion of others–is fitting, with the crack of the whip as background music.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Haha – whip crack away – and not on the dusty stagecoach with Doris Day either… although, considering the sad news this week, maybe I will watch Calamity Janes just one more time. Glad you felt similarly moved by my humble prose, Andrea. Hope all is well with you.

      Liked by 1 person

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