Chicago

Feel free to stroll around using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

They say location is everything. Many thanks to Karen Rawson and her highly significant other, J Hardy Carroll for hosting and sharing a new location to challenge us every week.

Chicago River

Some reading might remember this story from Friday Fictioneers two years ago. I took the liberty of revisiting and adding fifty words to it.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150

SHIKAKO

“Place Where the Skunk Weed Grows”

Catherine DuSable walked along the shore of the Eschikagou while her beloved Jean-Baptiste slept. Today a steady stream of customers had come to their trading post to buy and sell. Usually she enjoyed the stories they shared.

One trapper eyed her. “What you want for that fine squaw, Monsieur DuSable?”

“My wife is not for sale.”

She raised her hands to the sky and danced beside the waters, shaking off the trapper’s leering image.

“Mama, I can’t sleep.”

She turned to see Susannah whose tight black curls and dark skin glowed in the moonlight. So like her father. Catherine scooped the child into her arms.

“When I was little I prayed to Kichi Muhnido, the Great Spirit, for peaceful dreams.”

“You mean St. Raphael. Papa says…”

“For him I am Catholic, but in my heart of hearts I will always be Kitihawa, of the Bodéwadmi, keepers of the sacred fire.

Click Here for a bit of Background

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The following photo is the ubiquitous PHOTO PROMPT. Study it. There are many roads you can take. Tell us where it leads in a hundred words or less.

*BEGINNING, MIDDLE AND END *

As always, my story follows the prompt and inLinkz. I welcome and appreciate constructive crit.

get the InLinkz code

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 100

WILD ONIONS

Catherine DuSable raised her hands to the sky and danced along the shore of the Eschikagou until a soft voice interrupted her reverie.

“Mama, I can’t sleep.”

Catherine turned to see Susannah whose tight black curls and dark skin glowed in the moonlight. So like her beloved Jean-Baptiste. Catherine scooped the child into her arms.

“When I was little I prayed to Kichi Muhnido, the Great Spirit, for peaceful dreams.”

“You mean St. Raphael. Papa says…”

“For him I am Catholic, but in my heart of hearts I will always be Kitihawa, of the Bodéwadmi, keepers of the sacred fire.

This is primarily a work of my imagination. I followed the history trail but every account varied a little as did the spellings of the names. Here is a link to one of the articles.