Posted in what pegman saw


Picture of Old Art School by Raul Garcia on Google


© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

Pedro scratched in the dust with his fingertips. Colours seeped towards the peeling plaster on those cracked columns. Slowly, everything brightened. Standing, he gesticulated rainbow-coloured fingers and sang nervously. He didn’t know what the words meant, but he remembered them from when he sat on his Nanna’s knee. She would sing him asleep. She would sing him awake.

Unsure if he was awake or asleep, Pedro continued painting the dust, with great flourishes of his arms as if he were a dictator of old, followed by delicate brushstrokes as if his fingers were butterfly wings.

Quickly the empty windows and doorways filled with faces. People’s eyes glistened with tears yet their smiles shone through the dust choking their lips. Fear and pride swirled in their hearts.

Clutching his heart, Pedro chewed his bottom lip. These  people were his family, were all he knew. Together, they must fill this place again.

(150 words)

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

Santa Ana, El Salvador

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


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.

3 thoughts on “A NEW ART SCHOOL

  1. I saw those photos of the old school, and they seemed to whisper of a story. But I’m glad I didn’t accept it. Instead, apparently, I knew you were going to take it up and make an enchanting tale of it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Great to see you Kelvin! I love the location you uncovered and the inspiring story you rendered from it. I love the dreamlike quality and the many delightful turns of phrase–especially where Pedro’s gestures go from as powerful as a dictator to as gentle as butterfly wings–like art, as I’m sure you intended. My favorite lines: “She would sing him asleep. She would sing him awake.”

    Liked by 1 person

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