Where Pegman Crashed. North Pole, Alaska

Santa-peg turned his back on the Cessna-sleigh-plane wreck. Insurance would cover the sleigh but rounding up the reindeer was going to play hell with his schedule. Why had he installed that newfangled SatNav contraption?: The reindeer would never have picked the wrong North Pole. Right now, he needed to wet his beard and — by golly — this was the spot to do it. What a stroke of luck to crash right outside a public house. But what sort of luck?: He hadn’t even reached the bar when he saw them – A consortium of WordPressers clustered around the corner-table sipping ale whilst trading posts. He turned to leave, but it was too late “Look, it’s Santa-peg” a woman shouted. Drat. He couldn’t make a bolt without the reindeer nor let his fans down in good conscience. With a grin he bellowed “Merry Christmas. Ho-ho-ho – Do I have some prompts for you!”.

© Grumpy Axolotl
Image : Google Streetview
Written for What Pegman Saw

FFfAW – Terryfied

Obstinate. The dinosaur stubbornly refused to budge. Writer’s block. Terry threw his pen down in disgust. His task was simple:150 words, more or less, of fiction inspired by whichever museum exhibit struck his fancy – in this case, a dinosaur skeleton. Obvious enough, or perhaps a bit too obvious…cliché: The dinosaur must come to life – Spring to life and go on the rampage! Terry imagined the other patrons dropping their jaws and coffee-cups; staring bug-eyed, transfixed; peeing their pants as the creature before them grew flesh and reanimated; a mass of humanity screaming; stampeding in blind panic and unbridled terror; smashing priceless antique vases, paintings and curios in a desperate scramble to escape from an equally terrified and rather bewildered reptile; causing more injury to themselves and each other than the dinosaur ever would. Terry could imagine the blood on the floors and walls. Hapless fools slipping in the mess, knocking themselves unconscious. 

If only the dinosaur could come to life. 

And then it did.

© Grumpy Axolotl

Word count 168

Photo: Yinglan Z

Written for:  https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/12/18/fffaw-challenge-week-of-december-19-2017

What Pegman heard: Buckhorn, Iowa

Nora was pretty pissed to have been buried next to Violet. She had supposed that the grave was one place she would finally get some peace and quiet. But no! She’d been interred next to the one bitch who just wouldn’t shut the fuck up. At least she got to hear the gossip: John was three holes over and he wasn’t too pleased with the trees. His plot was shaded all summer and the root growing through his ear was threatening to tear his skull asunder. Margaret, the newcomer, was constantly bemoaning the worms that kept her awake with their incessant gnawing and wriggling. And David … He was actually getting a decent rest, while somehow still managing to snore like a rhino. James recounted his war-stories ad-nauseum.

Trembling, Pegman stood up. Never again would he put a stethoscope to the earth.

© Grumpy Axolotl
Written for What Pegman Saw
Image: Google Streetview

Last Tango in Córdoba

Pegman would have loved to have seen Gato Barbieri. R.I.P. Here is what he actually saw:

Holla! Pegman saw those that saw straight back at him and a vicious – yet ultimately pointless – pointing contest between Peg and faceless working-class-locals erupted and spilled out onto the streets. By the time the dust cleared and order had been restored, many holes had been poked in the air, much Spanish spoken and much Tequila dispensed. The flamenco player put aside his hand-crafted guitar as the tap-dancers dispersed (one complaining bitterly of corns). A cat watching from a windowsill yawned, scratched behind one ear, and went back to sleep.

© Grumpy Axolotl.
Written for What Pegman Saw
Image: Google StreetView