This story is in response to What Pegman Saw, a fiction prompt series, that promises a weekly whirlwind tour of the world. Each story of 150 words uses a location on Google Maps, as inspiration.
This time, we are in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, (or “PA” as we used to say) in the US. This area once had a very strong steel manufacturing sector, which suffered greatly in the sixties, seventies, and eighties. This resulted in much of the steel industry, and the jobs they offered, heading overseas. I think this location qualifies, as part of the “Rust Belt.” Named so, for obvious reasons.
Please be sure to check out the link above, to see Pittsburgh for yourself, and enjoy the story. Or, join in the fun, by writing your own.
The woodshop was where we must never go.
So, of course, we went. And hid in the blond cubicles of lumber, supporting the circular saw. Thinking Daddy would never find us, tangled among banana bikes and push-mowers.
Mom kept an orderly house. Only one book in the bathroom: not for reading, but for decoration. Dusted shelves, pristine kitchen. Ammonia spray, to put any impudent germs out of their misery.
On Father’s Day, we made a lovely scrapbook of magazine cut-outs, the printing colors, slightly mismatched: a loaf, for our breadwinner; a happy family, with three-point-two children; smiley-face stickers, throughout.
Daddy stormed in, head down, not talking. He sailed through the woodshop door, like some vast destroyer, waves, closing shut behind him. We quivered in our saddle-shoes.
The buzzsaw began, a high-pitched, breathless banshee. Pipe smoke curled through the cracks in the door.
We dared not go in the woodshop, now.