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Walden, once a growing community of hundreds of families was but a hollow shell of its former self. The sounds of insects, winds and creaking wood of trees which were once drowned out by the sounds of cars and people had returned as the dominant sounds once more.
The safety of the bank was forfeited long ago. There was nothing left but empty halls and empty safety deposit boxes, boxes that made for great nesting areas for small birds who gladly took advantage of this.
The main road that led to and from Walden was now indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape. Gardens once looked after and trimmed to perfection were now rough and overgrown, returning back to their chaotic natural state.
Some doors had collapsed or were perhaps destroyed by looters or animals as time passed. Either way they left a welcoming entrance for animals. There were signs of fires, in some cases it was merely a trail of soot and smoke above a window pane, in others it was a pile of ash where once a building stood.
Pitmedden, once nothing more than a simple, quiet town was now a mere distant memory of better times. An eerie silence had taken over and was only interrupted by the cracking of wood in the wind and the occasional bird who had made its home in one of the many collapsed roofs.
The town hall, once the pride and glory of this town, was turned into a new pride and glory by the various animals that lived here. Birds, cats, dogs and all sorts of rodents had all taken their spots.
The road that led to and from Pitmedden was still somewhat discernible despite the many cracks and holes given to it by the elements. The occasional animal can be heard rustling in the tall grasses of the unkempt gardens or hiding in the wild overgrown bushes.
Some doors were shut tightly, others were broken down. Some forcefully, others had simply collapsed under their own weight as the elements continued to eat away at them. Clothing, home appliances and other belongings were left lost and broken outside some of the homes. They were of no use to anyone anymore.
Larton, once a major festival town and home to an amazing night lift was now a forgotten remnant of a time long passed. The sounds of insects, winds and creaking wood of trees which were once drowned out by the sounds of cars and people had returned as the dominant sounds once more.
The safety of the bank was forfeited long ago. There was nothing left but empty halls and empty safety deposit boxes, boxes that made for great nesting areas for small birds who gladly took advantage of this.
The once smooth network of roads that let to Larton was now a network of vines, grasses and roots that had taken hold of every bit they could get. Fallen trees block some of the paths while others continue to grow, their branches no longer prevented from growing into houses.
Some doorways seemed in relative decent condition while others were destroyed and were indistinguishable from other collapsed walls and piles of rubble. There were signs of fires, in some cases it was merely a trail of soot and smoke above a window pane, in others it was a pile of ash where once a building stood.
Zao Ying , once bustling with life and brimming with light at this hour was now partially reclaimed by nature. The sounds of insects, winds and creaking wood of trees which were once drowned out by the sounds of cars and people had returned as the dominant sounds once more.
Collapsed wooden walkways and a few sunken boats littered the relatively small docks. Some of the sunken boats had bird nests in them, but most were simply covered in shells and slowly reclaimed by nature.
The once busy road that led to Zao Ying was slowly absorbed back into nature as grass, flowers and small shrubs reclaimed what they can as fast as they can. The crisp and clean looking town now looked more like a jungle as trees and gardens grew beyond their now unkempt boundaries.
Doors were boarded up tightly and some showed signs of painted symbols with meanings known only to those who put them there, but whoever put them there’s long gone too. Window panes hung perilously from their hinges and here and there drapes had been flung out by the wind.
Blencalgo, once rich with life, hopes, dreams and aspirations was now a mere distant memory of better times. Silence had taken the place of the sound of playing children, talking neighbors and the sounds of a working community. The silence was deafening.
The clock-tower was somehow still rich with sounds, but it wasn’t its bells and gears as those had stopped working a long time ago. It was a flock of crows that had made this once great pillar their new home.
The now quiet road that led to Blencalgo was barely discernible through the weeds and grasses that had reclaimed it. Random pieces of long forgotten possessions litter the roads and wild, overgrown gardens within this town.
Most doors still stood sturdy in their frames. They were a little dirty, but if you only focused on the doors you’d expect people to come out as if nothing had changed. Dry rot, vines and other undesired vegetation had taken the place of paint on most buildings and created their own kind of decoration.
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