What Pegman Saw

All posts tagged What Pegman Saw


Published December 9, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Saskatchewan Canada. You may use the photo provided with the prompt or take to Google maps and search within the borders of Saskatchewan for your own inspiration.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. You may contribute poetry, prose, or essay. Once your piece is polished share with others at the link up below. Reading and commenting on others work is part of the fun.

Click frogs to enter the campground. 

Thanks to Karen and Josh for hosting the challenge.

I chose this idyllic scene to revisit a flash fiction I wrote in July of 2012 when I was just one of the Friday Fictioneers gang. I added  50 words and a new title. Voila! 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150


           “I detest camping,” said Ella.

             Following a full day of hiking, two miles past the nearest service station, Geoff’s classic mustang stalled. Neither of their cell phones found a signal and the sun was setting. Resentment swelled her. Pain riddled her back and thighs as they’d hauled their gear to a nearby vacant cabin.

             “You told me you loved camping, El.”

             “I lied.”

              He massaged her swollen feet. “Look at this magnificent view. Not to mention you’re in the company of your personal physician.”

              How could she resist his brown-eyed, boyish pout?  That same look coaxed her into matrimony to the impoverished med student a year ago. “Yes, it’s beautiful. I only hope the folks who own this place don’t come and have us arrested.”

            “At least we don’t have to pitch the tent. See? Our luck’s about to change.”

            “More than you can imagine, doctor. My water just broke.”




Published December 1, 2019 by rochellewisoff

The Greenwood district was a thriving African-American community with luxury shops, restaurants, grocery stores, hotels, jewelry and clothing stores, movie theaters, barbershops and salons, a library, pool halls, nightclubs and offices for doctors, lawyers and dentists. It had its own school system, post office, a savings and loan bank, hospital, and bus and taxi service

This is an unusual prompt today because it’s focused on a specific time and place, and as such is sort of an experiment. We at Pegman encourage you to look into this mostly-forgotten tragedy and write something about it, but as always you can write anything about Tulsa that strikes your fancy.”


Thanks to Josh and Karen for hosting the Pegman Challenge. I couldn’t very well resist a challenge that includes history. My heart goes out to the people of Greenwood. I dream of a day we can appreciate each other’s differences instead of trying to snuff them out. 

The aftermath. 35 city blocks were razed to the ground.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


I knew nothing of the so-called race riot that took over 300 lives in our district of Greenwood until 1996 when the Today Show ran a story. After seeing it on television, my 80-year-old grandfather agreed to let me interview him for a school report.

            “You must understand,” he squeezed my hand, “my memories are those of a five-year-old.”

            I poised my pen over my notepad. “Go on, Poppy.”

            His faded gaze looked past me. “Four men ran toward the house with guns and lighted torches. Bam! My daddy fell.” A tear streamed down a crevice of Poppy’s leathered cheek.

            “Mama yelled to us kids, ‘get up under the bed.’ Which we did. My sister clapped her hand over my mouth when one of the men tromped on my finger. I can still feel it. They set fire to the curtains. Life as we knew it went up in smoke.”


Published November 16, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to Shewdagon Pagoda in Myanmar. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to write up to 150 words inspired by this week’s location. Feel free to use the image supplied in the prompt, or take to Google maps and find your own view with in the borders of Myanmar.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the linkup below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this round the world blog challenge.


Genre: Fiction

Word Count: 150


            Muu Yi tugged at the wang around her neck. “It makes my shoulders hurt, Aahwarr.”

            “You only have five coils.” Her grandmother glanced up from her loom and grinned. “Wait until you have eighteen like me.”              

            “Why do we wear them when a lot of the women in the village don’t?”

            “Modern girls. They care nothing for tradition.” Aahwarr hunched over her weaving and clucked her tongue. Then she straightened. “Listen. I will tell you a story. Thousands of years ago, a sorcerer fell in love with and married a dragon. The dragon laid three eggs which became the Pa-Oh, the Karen and our tribe the Padaung. To honor our dragon mother we make our necks look like hers.”

            “I am proud to wear the rings.” Muu Yi clapped her hands. “I like that story.”

            “So do the tourists, little one.” Aahwarr patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “So do the tourists.”


Published November 9, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman goes to Guyana, South America. Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by this week’s location. Feel free to use the image supplied with the prompt, or zoom in to Guyana on Google Maps and find your own inspiration. Warning, there are not a lot of photo spheres, but the more you zoom around the more you’ll find.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the link up below. You may contribute, poetry, prose, or essay–or whatever the location inspires you to write. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

click the frog. You know you want to. 

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this challenge.

The following is an expanded version of a story I posted 4 years ago in Friday Fictioneers. For those of us who remember…let us never forget. 

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


            Like a frightened animal, the girl huddled in the darkest corner of an abandoned shack on the beach. I offered her refuge in my winter home in Bridgetown. After much coaxing she accepted.

            “Where are your parents?” I asked. “Do they know where you are?”

            She fell into my arms, shaking with anguished sobs. “Dead. Everyone’s dead.”

            I embraced her, unable to stem my own tears. “You’re safe now.”

            “He promised us a rainbow family in Paradise,” she whispered the next day over lunch.

            “We saw the bastard on the news. How did you escape?”

            “I told the guard Father wanted flowers for the meeting. I hid under bushes all day, ran all night and then stole a fishing boat. I floated a long time.” She licked her blistered lips.

            “Scorcher today.” My husband burst onto the patio, pitcher in hand. “Kool-Aid anyone?”

            “No, thank you.” She choked. “Not ever.”  




Published October 28, 2019 by rochellewisoff

In the spirit of Halloween, Pegman ventures to one of the creepiest places in the United States, the condemned Overbrook Lunatic Asylum in Cedar Grove, New Jersey. A quick Google search will reveal to the writer many horrifying facts about this cursed place, some of which may inspire up to 150 original words to be shared with fellow Pegman adventurers. Feel free to stroll around until you find something you like, then post your work to the InLinks site. Have fun, and happy Halloween!

I’m not sure how original my 150 words are. This story is somewhat out of my comfort zone, which I’m told is a good thing for a writer. 😉 I guess you could say it haunted me.

Many thanks to Josh and Karen for this challenge which is all about location, location, location. 


Word Count: 150


            My brother kicked a pile of chipped paint and crumbled floor. “What a shame they’re tearing down this old loony bin.”

            “Yeah.” Light beamed through a broken window, illuminating a broken-down piano. “Guess we’ll have to find somewhere else.”

            “They say it’s haunted.”

               I startled. The voice belonged to a girl sitting in a lopsided chair. She skimmed her fingertips across the yellowed keys, a faraway look in her sky-blue eyes. “I don’t believe it for a minute, do you?”

            I pointed to her old-fashion nurse’s cap and uniform. “Halloween costume?”

            “Tis the season.” She giggled. “Wanna hear some Scott Joplin?”

             “Maple Leaf Rag” shook the walls.

            When she finished I applauded and turned to my brother. “Is she amazing or what?”

            He scratched his head and sent me a puzzled look. “Who?”  

             I whipped back around to see a tattered nurse’s cap on the keyboard. “Umm…nobody. Race ya home.”




Published October 13, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to the Arlington National Cemetery in Washington DC, USA.

Your mission is to write up to 150 words inspired by the prompt. Feel free to use the location supplied above, our take your own tour of Washington D.C. via Google maps and find a view that inspires you.

You may write poetry, prose, essay, limerick, sonnet, or fiction of any flavor. Once your piece is polished, share it with others at the linkup below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun.

Thanks to Karen and Josh for facilitating this unique challenge. To join click the frog.


This week I revisited and fleshed out a story I posted in Friday Fictioneers four years ago. 

Genre: Realistic Fiction

Word Count: 150


            Six years my senior, my gentle brother was my hero. He was the valedictorian of his graduating class. Awarded a scholarship to Harvard, he owned the future.

            I had just turned twelve when his draft notice came. Vietnam consumed every newscast. Mom was inconsolable.

            The day he left to go overseas I clung to him and sobbed. “I’ll never see you again.”

            “Duty calls, Sis.” He pinched my cheek and kissed my nose. “I’ll be back. You’ll see.”




            Tonight we celebrate his sixty-fifth birthday. His hands tremble as he cuts the cake. The knife falls from his fingers and tears stream down his stubbled cheeks.

            “I cut off their ears and hung them from a chain on my belt loop.” He swallows a pill with a swig of beer. “Thirty-six kills. God, I miss it.”

            My brother did come back from Vietnam but he never returned.    




Published August 25, 2019 by rochellewisoff

This week Pegman takes us to the capital of Latvia, in Riga’s Old Town. Your mission is to write up 150 words inspired by the location. Feel free to use the image supplied, or venture around Riga for something that inspires you. You may write fact or fiction, poetry or prose. The only only requirement is to keep your piece at 150 words or less, as a consideration to others.

Once your piece is polished, share it with others using the linkup below. Reading and commenting is part of the fun!

As always, thanks to Karen and Josh for heading up the challenge. 

Click the frog to read other stories and add your own. 

Peitav Synagogue in Riga, Latvia was built in 1905. It has survived the Holocaust and bombings in the 1990’s.

Genre: Historical Fiction

Word Count: 150


Katya played Chopin’s “Berceuse” on the imaginary piano in her coat pocket with trembling fingers. She tried to keep pace on the frozen path.

Without success, she tried to block out the image of her father, the cantor, lying in the street, his magnificent voice forever stilled. Latvia’s November wind whipped through her.  

She remembered when Professor Philipp at the conservatory in Paris proclaimed, “Katya Abramis, you have an exquisite talent.”


A drunken soldier ripped an infant from a young mother’s arms and shot him. She dropped to her knees only to suffer the same fate as her son. The snow turned red beneath them.

“Shoes in this pile, clothes in that.”

Katya obeyed. What choice did she have?

Standing naked at the edge of a deep pit, Katya pictured her beloved synagogue and heard Papa sing “Lord of the World, Who was, Who is, Who is to come.”   


There is little on the internet about Cantor Abram Abramis or his daughter Katya, renowned pianist of her time. Both perished in the 1941 Massacre in Riga. CLICK HERE for my source. 

אנו זוכר’ם


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