This week Pegman takes us to Cape Town, South Africa.
Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.
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Although I chose a photo from Cape Town, I traveled far afield. The architecture puts me in mind of the old part of Charleston, SC. So I took a story I wrote for Friday Fictioneers a couple of years ago and, as Karen graciously put it, breathed new life into it. At the same time, when South Africa comes to mind, I think of Apartheid. So there’s kind of connection…right? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 150
I adored our handsome houseboy “Black-Jack.” Mama had a special smile just for him. Nobody told a better story. Sarah and I shared his lap, laughing and crying by turns.
One night I kissed his bronze cheek. “I wish you were my daddy, too.”
“So does I, my sweet li’l magnolia.”
When Sarah and I turned eight, Grandma sold him.
Mama swooned. I dried Sarah’s tears with my lace petticoat.
“Stop that, Emma.” Grandma snapped. “She’s your slave.”
“No! She’s my best friend. My sister.”
I still feel the sting of Grandma’s hand across my lips.
A month later the old biddy sold Sarah.
On my seventeenth birthday I was married off to a plantation owner near Charleston.
This morning I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who bears no resemblance to either her blond father or me. In fact, she’s the spitting image of her Aunt Sarah.