Reader. Writer. Fangirl. Lover of fictional characters. A few other things.
Not exactly a city, but neighborhoods make a city, right?
Written By: Jude
July 8, 2015
The neighborhood of East Park didn't always look like such a dump. It didn't always have an air of isolation and abandonment, didn't always remind people of death.
But that was before.
Before, big beautiful brownstones towered over everything. People hustled and bustled through the fancy 5-star restaurants and high-end stores, dodging cars zooming through the streets, crossing over the cobblestoned sidewalks. It was alight and alive. The neighborhood had its own heartbeat.
One day, though, life was interrupted by rude, apathetic nature. The grounds started to shake, the cobblestones jutting out of the earth like the jagged stalagmites you find in a cave. Buildings crumbled down. The sky rained bricks, glass, concrete.
People ran. People screamed. People tried to take cover. People tried to drive away. People failed. People died.
A lot of things came down that day, but a few things went up too. In the midst of the disaster, prayers flew up. The people who were stuck, people who had never been to church in their lives, the ones who always swore they were too good for religion, broke down and started to plead with someone, anyone up there to stop this madness and save them.
But people still died. There were survivors of course, but not nearly as many as there should have been.
East Park had been at its peak then, and it had taken a lot of money, a lot of time to get it there. But it had only taken a few seconds to bring it all down. It had been stricken by a massive heart attack and, unfortunately, it couldn't recover.