Morning all. I think the computer issues have been sorted. nothing shut down on me today and hopefully the issue is now fixed. I’m not saying that too loudly just in case, but I have my fingers crossed. So let’s get into today’s prompt shall we? Fingers, and pens or keyboards at the ready? Then Loose the timers! I’ll see you after fifteen minutes.
Huh. This was a little strange for me. not really the POV I am used to writing in. Not sure why my brain chose it this morning. I like the setting though. It seems like a place of secrets and small conflicts escalating into full out battles. Still kind of thrown by the POV.
Wednesday, April 21st: It was a neighborhood of old people.
It was a neighborhood of old people. More importantly it was a neighborhood of old neighbors. The houses in this part of town had more or less been occupied by the same people for the last fifty or sixty years. When someone left the neighborhood it was generally death that took them and in almost every instance, one of the children of the deceased moved in and took over where the last generation left off.
Everyone in this neighborhood grew up in this neighborhood.
The last passing had been at least forty years prior. All the children of those living in the neighborhood were currently elsewhere. When the owner of 582 Foster Avenue died it was assumed that his son Charles would move back in and take off where Charles Sr left off and the fabric of life would continue. A few were worried that the incoming Charles never married and never had kids, but several of the neighbors were looking forward to the challenge this presented and were in anticipation of watching a courtship take place in their locale.
The fact that Charles would choose not to return never crossed anyone’s mind. Charles however had other plans. While he managed to keep his failing health and upcoming death away from the neighborhood gossips, not even letting his father know that he would soon be joining him in the great beyond, moving into the house was beyond him. Three weeks before his father’s death Charles took up residence in a care facility. He left, occasionally if need called for it, but rarely strayed far. His father’s funeral, a trip to the house to make certain everything was secure and a trip to the lawyers were all he could really manage. The final signing of the deed transfer papers to the new owners were done in his room at the facility as at that point walking to the door of his room had become too much of an effort.
It seemed as though he was holding out for the paperwork so that the house could be securely in another’s care. When the is were dotted and the ts crossed, everyone was sent on their way. That night Charles went to sleep and never awoke.
Foster Avenue slept on peacefully, not knowing it would be awoken to a new twist in the fabric of their lives.
It was two days later when the new owners arrived. As Charles knew he had no use for anything in the house and no one to leave anything to, he sold the house as it was contents included. When the new owners arrived it was with an empty truck and a dumpster. They waited to a decent hour, not descending on the neighborhood until mid-morning when they figured the majority of residents would be awake. They were aware of the neighborhood’s past and wanted to start out making as few enemies as possible. No one expected the transition to be smooth.
At first it was thought to be Charles finally returning home. Neighbors dusted off welcome back recipes and prepared. News of Charles’ death had not yet reached them.
Ten til Midnight 