Home-town

Written this morning on Fifthwind Forums to try and kick-start a challenge. The original challenge was to write settings based on cities you’d lived in. My hometown just begs for some Gothic stories.

(Something about stories like finding the ranch foreman murdered and stuffed down a well–a good few weeks after his disappearance–set ones mind to thinking about all the lovely possibilities. Those hills could hide anything.)

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The city hall–the one next to the tattoo shop–has seen better days, and there are very few people coming and going. One time, they held modeling classes there, and the backwoods mingled with pseudo-glam. The Masonic monument just up the street is the indignity of half the churches in a town where black magic is more likely than an exorcism.

This is a strange place, an effigy of a miner hanging from an inn on Main Street, army-surplus stores/white supremist hangouts just down the street from magic supply shops. Kids joke about setting fires to get happy, because a grass-fire in certain parts of the surrounding countryside will send of clouds of marijuana smoke; firefighters often refuse to do their jobs, too many have been killed by drug-producer’s booby traps.

Weird and wonderful. And just a little town on the way to Tahoe.

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