THE GOLD RUSH

Picture from The Gold Rush Amusement Arcade, Great Yarmouth by Adam Hulewicz on Google Maps

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The Gold Rush

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

‘Bad penny.’ Rupert scowled as his coin rolled the wrong way. ‘Bad!’ He tried again and again, got more excited with each penny until he threw a handful of them at the machine and laughed.

‘Hey, Rupert, hey.’ His mum smiled as she picked up the scattering coins.

Pushing his forehead into the glass, Rupert rocked himself.

‘Oi! No rocking the machines!’ Shaking two fat fists, the tattooed man stomped out of the Change kiosk. ‘I said enough!’ He shoved Rupert away from the Two Penny Waterfall.

Rupert’s mother gasped as her son thumped onto his backside. ‘You baboon! Can’t you see he’s harmless?’

Eyes focussing on something only he could see, Rupert rocked like crazy.

‘Don’t you baboon me! No rocking the machines. Management rules!’ The man shoved Rupert’s mother towards the exit. ‘Now, hop it, before I lose it!’

‘Bad penny,’ snarled Rupert, hurtling toward the man. ‘Bad!’

(150 words)

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

Great Yarmouth, UK

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

Thank you, as ever, Karen and Josh, for hosting this great weekly prompt, from CrimsonProse for suggesting the locations, and for everyone who takes part.

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A ROARING LIFE

City Hall Lion, Corina Laszio, Google Maps

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A Roaring Life

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

I see you lurking behind those dark glass windows. You think I cannot see you ducking behind those blocks of bright plastic, but I have always seen you.

I hear you flicking nervously through book after book during the school holidays, every school holiday, even Christmastime. You make this library your home, you have to, I know you have to.

I smell you, that rank odour of fear from your twenties to your forties. Thirty years of malodour. It is enough to rankle my stone nose.

You need to get a life. I should give you a life. One roar from me and you will find some courage to climb my Guidhall steps and lay your trembling hands upon me.

One touch is all it will take.

I am no Aslan though. There is no magic in me. The magic lies within you. I long for you to discover it.

(150 words)

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View of Guildhall Square, Stephen Burns, Google Maps:

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

Portsmouth in Hampshire, UK

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

Thank you, as ever, Karen and Josh.

MONUMENTAL

Ernest Hemingway Bust, Николай Максимович, Google Maps

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Monumental

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

I had this dream once. I saw a sky bluer than anything I could imagine. This blueness was sublime, as if my eyes had been painted with a new palette. To meet such an artist filled me with desire, I think.

I know the sun shone brightly in this new sky. I stared at this sun for ages without burning my eyes. This sun that was directly above me as if I were laying down, yet I knew I was upright. I couldn’t feel my body though, only my head… my shoulders, which now seemed widened by experience. Such sensations as these never occurred in dreams.

Refocussing on this amazing blueness, I watched it expand the world around me. Near and far I experienced the intensity of this new colour, this new life. To remember more I began writing like never before. I would love to know if I finished.

(150 words)

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View from Ernest Hemingway’s Statue, Matthias Hering, Google Maps:

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View of Ernest Hemingway’s Statue from afar, Roberto Cabezas, Google Maps:

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

Cardenas, Cuba

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

A NEW ART SCHOOL

Picture of Old Art School by Raul Garcia on Google

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A NEW ART SCHOOL

© 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)

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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

NO DOUBT

Picture from the Evening Standard

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NO DOUBT

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

Everything blurs as they rush by. If only they would stop and look, really look. But, no, all they’re interested in is that world clasped in their hands. Why can’t they stop and see the end of the world cupped in mine?

Grief thickens my soul. I know this emotion now. I know all emotions now. I wish I didn’t. I wish things would go back to how they were before: blissful and beautiful. Why oh why didn’t I consider the consequences of my actions? There is no way back from this, no way whatsoever.

It’s her fault. It’s always been her fault.

It’s my fault. It has always been my fault.

Regret ravages me. Despair distends me. I… we… have lost everything. Everything.

A child stops and stares. Finger pointing at me, she asks innocently, ‘Hey Mommy, why’s that sulking cat got a rotten apple core in its paws?’

(150 words)

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

London, England

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

A Stone Meant

Picture of Balbulol Dive Resort by Lera 76 from Google

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A STONE MEANT

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

I am not a stepping stone to your destination, each stone of me is your destination.

Wheresoever you have come from, whatsoever you have done, matters not. This fading of your skin, this waning of your body, are like sunshine and rain to me.

Come, place your foot here or there, you will see. Place your hands upon the flesh of my stone and you will feel. Sit or lay, or stand and sway, upon any part of me and you will understand.

That each and everyone one of your steps is a coming home, and there is such jubilation to be found in coming home. From jubilation joy flows then hope grows, thicker than this vegetation swallowing you.

Push through your fear, my dear sweet child, you have waited long enough. Please, you are strong enough, you are worthy enough. Come, live on me as I live in you.

(150 words)

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

Raja Ampat Regency, Indonesia

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

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What Pegman Saw – Follower

One of my favourite stories this year from a writer who oozes panache.

Autumn Leaves

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. Many thanks to Karen and Josh for organising this most stimulating prompt!

Balbulol Dive Resort, Indonesia | Lera 76, Google Maps

Follower

He’s here again, not doing anything, just sitting and watching me.

At first he hid. He’s bolder now, in plain view.

I chant invocations as I shovel ash from a bonfire into a sack and put it into my outrigger. Nine and ninety days it has sat in sun and rain, and now it’s ready to bless the land and the sea.

I paddle hard for hours, and as I approach the atoll the sun is at its zenith. Has my pursuer had the stamina to keep up with me? I can’t see…

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