Thomas Horan

Ghost Town

Where the hell am I? I blink as the town before me comes into view through the fog like a bad omen. From the tree line driving in, I can tell that it is average size but nothing spectacular; the apartment complexes in the center are among the biggest buildings there and they don’t look bigger than three stories or so. On the west side, I can see little settlements of suburban homes, roads leading through them, circling into cul de sacs like a 1950s suburbia. On the east side seems to be the residential area where the business happened: banks, restaurants, shops of all kinds. The tallest building is a cathedral of some kind in the middle with a big clock in the side, with the arrow hands showing the time of 12:15.