THAT HOLIDAY

Picture by Mon Lan from Google Maps

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THAT HOLIDAY

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

The air crackled with excitement. Standing at the rear of the crowd about to surge forward, Peter tried to be a part of the crowd without feeling apart from the crowd.

Who was he kidding. He hated crowds. For decades, he’d prided himself on always standing apart from the crowd. He used to argue fiercely that he would even stand apart if he was caught up in an emergency situation and everyone was running for their lives. Until that day it happened to him.

When this crowd surged forward to touch that golden boulder, he tasted smoke, he heard screaming and choking, then he was stampeding to that emergency exit, his elbows sharper than everyone else’s.

Everyone else.

So many people didn’t make it, including children and pregnant mothers. His selfishness saddened him deeply, but what could he do? When it came to the crunch, he was human after all.

(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:

Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon, Myanmar (Burma)

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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Thank you, as ever, Karen and Josh, for hosting this great weekly prompt, and for everyone who takes part in posting their stories, and those who support this community by reading and commenting.

THIS PLACE

Church of the Granite Columns from Wikipedia under a CC BY-SA 3.0 licence

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THIS PLACE

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

In the emptiness of here, I see sand swirling, rising. You see sandcastles.

I see pillars cracking, crumbling. You see a palace.

I hear people weeping, wailing. You hear crowds cheering.

I hear an ominous silence. You hear distant angel song.

I smell fear feeding failure. You smell the sweetest perfume.

I taste dust. I choke on dust. You savour the cleanest water.

I feel time is coming to an end. You feel everything is just beginning.

I feel despondent, despairing. You feel full of hope.

‘Have faith, friend.’ Your lips, your eyes, your entire being blossoms into a smile. ‘Everything is going to be okay.’

Your smile touches me deeply. Your words fill me completely. Swaying, I see a sandcastle forming in the air and gasp as the wonder of this place reveals itself to me.

(137 words)

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

Old Dongola, Sudan, Africa

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, and for everyone who takes part.

THAT SUNSET

Rasgado’s Jazz Club, Baía Farta, Angola by

Claudio González Jorge, Google Maps

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THAT SUNSET

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

This sand, this golden golden sand, how it kissed their knees and hands. Working apart, they patted and pushed, slapped and squeezed. As the tide crept out, this magical sand rose into an amazing tower, one that had been in their eyes from the beginning.

People milled around them, nodding and gasping, pointing and smiling, but they continued obliviously until their tower was the perfect height. Only then did they lift the object that had been between them all this time, and, on tiptoe, carefully place it at the top of their tower.

The tide surged forwards. Silently they moved a stone’s throw from their tower. When the waves chomped at its base, he was the first to bow his head and sob. Trembling, she reached out for her father’s hand. Moments later, their shrivelling tower toppled and the ashes of her mother slid gracefully out to sea.

(148 words)

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

Angola, Africa

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, and for everyone who takes part.

THE BARE NECESSITIES

Picture by debbiayelet from Pixbay

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The Bare Necessities

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

We didn’t know we could dance. We didn’t know we could sing. If they hadn’t welcomed us into their amazing home and encouraged us with their kind words, their wonderful music, we would still be none the wiser.

The way their drums beat, the way their lights pulsed, was like lifetimes of heartbeats becoming one.

Our arms lifting, our bodies gyrating, we became one, whereupon our souls were revealed, harmonious and multicoloured souls that swirled before them, made them clap and cheer until their souls flopped out: ugly pits they were ashamed of. Pits writhing in agony where we glimpsed our ancestors standing naked, chained at their necks and feet. Their fur was bald and bloody and caked in excrement. Tortured, our ancestors were forced to fight until they died.

Motionless, we bared our teeth then held out our clawed paws, offered them our forgiveness until their lamenting began.

(150 words)

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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:

Riga, Latvia

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, and for everyone who takes part.

LOVING MYSELF

Picture of English Garden Entrance by Trevor D from Google Maps

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Loving Myself

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

There’s this garden before me I long to enter, one bursting with scents that make me feel alive.

Behind that perfect picket fence, blood-red roses grin at me. Behind them, a crazy-paving path zigzags across an immaculate lawn before circling a cottage which has the neatest of thatched roofs and the whitest of walls.

Around and around, flowers of every variety are weaved into collages by bees dragging pearls of pollen, while butterflies with angels’ wings dance  and birds sing the most heavenly song.

Inside the cottage, children giggle, adults too. Their good humour makes me want to hurl this wretched broken boot away and stomp forward.

I could.

I should.

I would love to enter this divine garden, join all those souls who passed me, but I am not good enough, I have never been good enough. And yet, it is entirely too lonely here to give up trying.

(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:

Manitoba, Canada

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, and for everyone who takes part.

THE END OF THE RAINBOW

Picture of Storybook Island by Jeffrey Hammel from Google Maps

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The End of the Rainbow

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

You can’t see me, little girl, you can’t!

Stop looking at me, little girl, stop looking!

No, I’m not going to wave at you because you’re waving at me, because I’m busy trying to hide my pot of gold, all right!

Sheesh – have I got to make another rainbow, slide along those sharp colours by the seat of my pants again? Cut myself to ribbons yet again? Have I? Have I? Hmmm!

Please, little girl, just look away. Please, please, pretty sugar and spice and all things nice please, look away.

Fine.

How about closing your eyes and counting to fifty? That’s right, I’ll play hide and seek with you. You count to fifty and I’ll hide my pot of life savings. When you open your eyes, if you can find them they’re yours… if you can’t, well, I will just add your soul to my collection of golden coins.

(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:

Black Hills, South Dakota

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, and for everyone who takes part.

THE LAP OF NIRVANA

Picture by Randolfo Santos from Google Maps

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The Lap Of Nirvana

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

Mist rises to find another day, new or old doesn’t matter. Young or old, I don’t matter. All that matters is today. 

Today my feet kiss this steep path as it rises heavenward while boulders of sweat kiss me. I love these views and am honoured to be offered them again. It seems an unfair exchange for this weight crushing my back.

In the unyielding heat, this basket load of stone tools becomes a basketfull of fruit, which then becomes a basket overflowing with flowers, whose fragrance buoys me at the steepest part of my journey, where my scrabbling fingers bleed to bone and my lungs dry up.

Now stone becomes me, I can begin to understand how they might feel. Only then can I be ready to resume work.

Hundreds of us resume together, chisseling and carving, what we will see when this life frees us from the next.

(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:

The Buddhist kingdom of Bhutan, on the Himalayas’ eastern ridge.

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, and for everyone who takes part.