King Road, November

It begins just as the world tilts forward—

a November night,

the house on the hill glowing faintly,

its windows catching the quiet

of a college town at rest.

Inside, life is ordinary,

as it should be:

friends returning from long days,

kitchen lights dim,

laughter lingering like the scent of perfume,

dreams taking shape behind closed doors.

There is nothing remarkable in the stillness,

and that is the beauty of it—

the sacredness of a night

meant for rest,

for safety,

for tomorrow.

But tomorrow does not come.

Before dawn,

something enters that does not belong.

The house is broken open,

and in an instant

youth is taken from itself.

Four lives—

bright with promise,

woven together in friendship,

in study, in love—

are silenced too soon.

The town does not know yet.

The streetlamps keep shining,

snow keeps falling clean,

neighbors dream in peace.

But in that house,

the world has already shifted.

The tilt has already come.

Later, their names will be spoken

with candles in hand,

with photographs lifted high,

with prayers whispered into a sky

that cannot answer why.

Later, vigils will burn against the cold,

and voices will rise to say

they are not forgotten.

What remains is not the violence—

though it carved its scar—

but the light they carried.

The laughter they left behind.

The memories their families keep safe,

unbroken, even as grief

weighs heavy as stone.

The house stands still,

a wound in wood and glass,

but beyond its silence,

their lives stretch outward:

in stories told,

in love remembered,

in a community bound together

by mourning and resilience.

This is not just where night fell.

It is where memory endures.

Where four souls are held

in the arms of all who refuse

to let them fade.

The world tilted forward,

and nothing could stop it.

But even in that tilt,

in that irreversible drop,

the light of their lives

remains.

It burns against the dark,

a testament stronger

than the silence of the house,

brighter than the shadow

of that night.