What Pegman Saw – A good brother

“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 Botswana.

© Google Maps

A good brother

“Hold Akashinga’s hand, Maffy. He will look after you until you get to mummy in South Africa.”

Mafirakureva took her thumb out of her mouth and, slipping her sticky fingers into her brother’s hand, she smiled up at her grandma.

Ten-year-old Akashinga stood as tall as he could. He had a backpack containing water and a few sandwiches but his responsibility felt heavier than the pack.

“Climb in,” said the driver to Akashinga. “Put her on your lap.” Akashinga squeezed in beside a plump girl.

They drove for hours across Zimbabwe to the Botswana border. Akashinga watched their driver joking with the border guards as they checked documents.

They’d only travelled a little further when they were stopped at a police checkpoint. The driver swore.

“Everybody sit tight. I’ll talk us through.”

Akashinga put his arms around Maffy.

“Don’t be afraid. I will keep you safe,” he promised.

Friday Fictioneers – Mugabe’s Gone

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!

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Historical fiction

Word count: 100

Mugabe’s Gone

The television booms in the background.

He’s gone. Mugabe’s gone.

I can’t believe it. My breath comes in gasps. My legs wobble as I stand.

I go to my little store room. There is the clock, exactly where I threw it at 11:15 on the evening of January 15^th 1983. Shuddering, I feel for the photograph, hidden under some cloth.

Yes. Here it is. I hardly dare look.

My beautiful boy, my son, my Joshua.

“Don’t view the body,” they said. But how could I bury him without looking one last time?

Tears flood down my cheeks, my own Gukurahundi*.

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*According to Wikipedia, Gukurahundi is a Shona word which loosely translates as “the early rain which washes away the chaff before the spring rains”. It was the term used by Robert Mugabe and his supporters for the purging of political opponents during the 1980s.