A nothing town in nowhere-ville
Another installment of #FlashInThePangram
Hello again, friends!
Yesterday I introduced a new, (hopefully) fun writing exercise I’ve concocted, lovingly titled #FlashInThePangram. To participate, all you have to do is write a piece of flash fiction, using a particular day’s pangram from the iconic NYT Spelling Bee game as the first word. The ‘pangram’ is the word in each day’s puzzle that utilizes all 7 letters in the game (but if you’re not familiar, there’s a better explanation here).
My criteria for flash fiction is under 1,000 words, although there’s probably some disagreement on the web about this (the web exists to foment disagreement, so it’s a safe bet). In my story from yesterday, using the pangram ‘UNJAMMING’ as the prompt, we met a new-age grifter named Shalaya in Sedona.
The following story, written last night, was inspired by yesterday’s pangram, VANGUARD, and turned out a little darker than my inaugural foray—sorry. I must admit, our unnamed narrator below seems a bit disturbed. But I try not to question where the flash fiction leads me; I’m just along for the ride. Will try for something more upbeat in my next installment.
A Nothing Town in Nowhere-ville
Vanguard, PA is a nothing town in nowhere-ville that any sane person would drive right past. I wish my parents had kept on driving instead of putting down roots here—just 15 more miles and they could have been in Yardsboro, which isn’t a bustling metropolis by any means, but at least it’s a proper town with a main street, and restaurants, and its own post office. If I’d had more diversions to occupy me as a kid, maybe I could have turned out different.
But growing up in this place? I never stood a chance. There’s no mayor, no police, not even a grocery store. No eyes on the street, and a lot of the “streets” are just yawning dirt paths that lead to more nowhere. As a kid, I had to take the bus 30 minutes to another town just to go to school. And a lot of times, I wouldn’t get on the bus at all. Instead, I’d skulk into the woods and get into all kinds of mischief. It’s too easy: I’ve learned you can get away with anything out here and nobody’ll ever know.
The only thing preventing Vanguard from becoming a complete ghost town, subsumed by forest and overgrown farmland, is Sackets Apple Orchard out on Pushcart Blvd.
Used to be that people would drive from all over the county to pick apples at Sackets, and then they’d have lunch in one of the three country diners right here in Vanguard. You could smell the hash browns and bacon from the road, wafting into your nostrils, carried by the scent of tree-pine and woodbrush.
And what a rush it was back then to see all the cars in the diners’ parking lots. Families, kids, folks from 20, 50, even 100 miles away. Total strangers, stopping here of all places, eating in our nothing town. It thrilled me. So many possibilities. And I liked knowing there were plenty of people around who could intervene if something bad happened in the woods. It’s good to have the threat of consequences; it’s good to know there are others around who can catch you if you get up to mischief.
But all those diners have closed now, the awnings rusted down to the frame, and the windows rotted out. If you’re looking hard, you can see these skeletons of bygone commerce lining the road to the orchard, but they’re easy to miss because the wild plants are so overgrown in the abandoned buildings that they blend right into the forested rural expanse that surrounds.
Families still visit the orchard, but they head over to Yardsboro or Rocks Mill or Junep for lunch now. Or they just go to one of the fast food drive-throughs on the highway. They never stay here for long. No one does. But I wish they would. Because I’m getting worried.
There used to be five families that lived here—the Bakers, the Docents, the Lumbermans, the Sackets (owners of the eponymous orchard), and me, Ma and Pa—but the Bakers and Docents have been gone some time now, and you never see the Lumbermans anymore, not in years (Ma and Pa always wondered what happened to them), which just leaves the Sackets, and they’re in their 80’s with failing eyesight and limited mobility; they have no idea what’s going on—and none of the orchard staff lives nearby.
And now that Ma passed last year, and Pa’s halfway in the grave to join her, I’m getting really scared that soon there’s not going to be anybody left in Vanguard besides me. And that’ll be really bad news, because that means there’ll be no one left to stop me.
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Want to join the #FlashInThePangram challenge? I’d love to see your contributions! Tweet me your stories @amyfeds or tag me on instagram @amyfedermanauthor. Is this whole thing extremely not your jam? That’s cool. Maybe spread the word to some of your fiction writing and/or word-game-loving friends instead.
Until next time—take it easy,
Amy