Perpetual Phalanx

 


The now quiet road that led to Whiteridge was torn to pieces by the elements. Grass filled the labyrinth of cracks and sand covered whatever was left. Broken branches and leaves cover the roads inside the town while the tall grasses of the unkempt gardens sway in the wind.

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. Paint crumbled off of the walls and were slowly replaced by vines that crawled their way towards the rooftops.


Whiteridge , once a growing town on the rise to a better future was now but an eerie shell of its former self. The many sounds of wild animals who've made their home in this town are carried in the wind and give it a new sense of liveliness and vibrancy.

Noble men and women were once called upon from the fire station, ready to save whoever needed saving. Unfortunately this town couldn't be saved. Funnily enough it was mostly cats that had made this station their home.


No matter how many animals made their home in this town now you couldn't help but be overcome with loneliness. Life had not just come to a halt, it had completely disappeared. But there was an odd sense of harmony as nature reclaimed what was theirs and resettled an old balance.

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