What Pegman Saw – Uprising

“What Pegman saw” is a weekly challenge based on Google Streetview. Using the location provided, you must write a piece of flash fiction of no more than 150 words. You can read the rules here. You can find today’s location on this page,  from where you can also get the Inlinkz code. This week’s prompt is the Shwedagon Pagoda in Myanmar.

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Image by ct tran from Pixabay

Uprising

The soldiers’ guns were loaded, and they had orders to shoot to kill. They patrolled the streets; we slipped through the night from shadow to shadow, through gardens and parks, behind hedges and shrubs, taking turns to carry our old, frail leader pick-a-back.

From the People’s Park we could see the stupa shimmering spectral gold.

“Quickly,” said our guide, ushering us into the tunnel that took us into the pagoda, “It will soon be dawn.”

As the sun’s fire rose blazing above the horizon, our leader struck the Tharrawaddy Min bell.

“My people – all my people – shall be free!”

The great bell sang, awakening resonances from the Maha Gandha bell. Across the city, thousands of bells were rung, spreading the word of resistance. A flame of sound raced over the countryside from end to end.

Aung San Suu Kyi slumped, her work at last complete.

What Pegman Saw – Stone walls and iron bars

“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. This week’s location is Portmeirion, North Wales, a place I know well. The prompt doesn’t mention this, but the village is on an estuary, and there are places from which you can see the sea.

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© Penny Gadd

Stone walls and iron bars

“Not that outfit, Michelle. You look like a tart.”

“But you liked it yesterday, Mark.” Her voice trailed away as he glared.

“Yesterday we were in Porthmadog; today we’re going to Portmeirion. It’s elegant; a model Italianate village.”

Michelle changed into her blue dress. Mark assessed her and gave a curt nod of approval.

“You drive, I’ll navigate,” he said, tossing her the car-keys. “You’d only lose us.”

The keys tinkled to the floor. “I should have handed them to you,” sighed Mark. “I know you can’t catch.”

Michelle’s cheeks burned. “I’m sorry I’m so useless,” she said.

When they arrived, Michelle concentrated hard and reverse parked neatly.

“Not bad,” commented Mark, giving her a tight smile of approval.

As they strolled past tumbling flowers, a decorative pond, a campanile, he luxuriated in his control of her; while she gazed beyond the prettiness to the sea, and dreamed of freedom.

Friday Fictioneers – Flight

Every week, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (thank you, Rochelle!) hosts a flash fiction challenge, to write a complete story, based on a photoprompt, with a beginning, middle and end, in 100 words or less. Post it on your blog, and include the Photoprompt and Inlinkz (the blue frog) on your page. Link your story URL. Then the fun starts as you read other peoples’ stories and comment on them!

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

Flight

I pass beyond the bland retail complex to the harbour, where the sea has been tamed. The light shimmers. An old buccaneer of a gull, cross-billed and cross-eyed, squints at my burger. We look at each other.

“Not for you, mate,” I tell him.

The Spinnaker Tower surges skywards in clean curves. Rather than a sail straining in the wind, creaking with the effort, it looks like a sign on a garage forecourt whirling with the futile energy of consumerism.

My seagull friend soars, gliding serenely beyond the breakwater to sparkling waves. How I wish I could do the same.