1. Ch. l

It was quiet during the day. A sense of peace lay over the entire place, creating a bubble. The soft murmur of the town was comforting, flooding the streets like a peaceful, invisible brook. Everyone took their time during the day, moving slowly and comfortably. At night, it was even quieter. There were no sounds of late parties or teenagers roaming after dark. The only sound was the hundreds of crickets chirping in unison, filling the air with their noise. It drowned out any other sound made, hiding the secrets of the night beneath its white noise. To a newcomer, it was a siren. Tension filled the air as they tried to sleep. To the townspeople, it was a lullaby that lay across the town. It was a dark, yet soft blanket. It was the song that was sung to them every night, and had been since they were children. To the town’s inhabitants, the chirps were the only thing that could lull them to sleep.

The many houses all lay in neat rows, each with its own individual quality. Something that made it different from its neighbor, but not by much. One could say it was rather a boring town, where the same stories were told, and the same people lived. The only thing that changed in that town was the faces. They became more lined, more weary as the days passed, and fresh faces replaced them. People left, and only some came back. Yet it was a comfortable place, filled with memories and history echoing throughout the mountains. Familiar faces was all they knew, and their history of their town was a long one. Stories well known and versed circled their home often. Everything was neat and clean, but worn from repeated use. Their history was echoed throughout the town, in little reminders. Old buildings with flaws, worn down roads and pavement. All emanating the people who first came there, the struggles and endurance that created the place as it is now.

A sense of nostalgia is the foundation of this town, a town of remembering and cherishing and appreciating. All around are reminders of the past. It wasn’t just people who grew older with you. It was the seeds you planted when you were small, that grew into a tree that became taller and jagged; but by the time you left, it was just a stump. The buildings that gained marks with every year that you gained. It was the same when I left, and it will be the same when I return. Only more worn, with more marks. I wanted that place to crumble, I wanted that place to disappear, to leave, to not exist. With it's stories, and buildings, and tree stumps. This was the place that built me up, until I no longer fit their mold. I was cast aside, forgotten, just the disappointment that no one will speak of. The place that created me decided it no longer wanted me. I wonder if someday this little old town will become so worn that it will fall apart. I imagine that everything will crumble in, and the ground will collapse and swallow that piece of history, leaving only a gaping hole, or a scar where it once stood.

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