Novel & Cerita Lonely Town

The roof began to buckle as more smoke and sparks sprayed the night sky. In the mountains of the wild west of Wyoming, the old town sat several miles from civilization. Though perfect for the pack, there was no way for emergency services to reach them in time. The isolation doomed them to fight for their lives alone. Through the desperate cries and screams, Lynexia heard a female voice cry out. It was hard to make out words through her hysterics. She said things like, “they did it on purpose. '' and “why! '' then there were intelligible words. Lynexia didn't care to listen to the female. She watched the blazing town burning to the ground.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow over the sleepy town of Willow Creek. The streets were empty, the only sound the distant hum of a lone guitar drifting from a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of town. The sign above the door creaked in the gentle breeze, reading "Maverick's" in faded letters.

And as time goes by, they decided to circle around the bonfire. Running. Coughing. For the time being, in the far land of Glamidale. A woman prowls in the town as she dreadfully cries for help, yet unfortunately, no man attends to her cry. No man throw a glimpse of her direction and it feels like she is all alone. The townsmen have eyes but they choose to play as blind, they have ears but they don't attend to your cries. They never care, Glamidale is a place where you'd live in misery.

The settlement wasn’t so much a village as a conspiracy of a few stone buildings huddled together as if for warmth against the vast, indifferent landscape. Our destination was a lonely farmstead, the only light for miles around spilling from a downstairs window. Josh pulled to a stop. We got out, the silence immediate and profound, broken only by the wind and the distant bleat of a sheep. It was breathtakingly desolate. A sharp pang of disappointment, stupid and unexpected, hit me. Some pathetic, romantic part of my brain had concocted a scenario where Lochlan was also on this wild goose chase, that we’d arrive to find his car already here. That we were, in some convoluted way, on the same t

Many things are easy to say, but hard to do. Crimson Hollow had become a ghost town. Sometimes people came, looking for Widow's Blooms, but not year-round. Especially not in winter—once the snow fell, the flowers stopped growing. So all winter long, Crimson Hollow was buried in blinding white snow, and not a soul would come. Waiting alone, from sunrise to sunset, then from sunset to sunrise again—it was a kind of desolation and loneliness that was hard to even imagine. But she had made it through.

The kind of cry that comes from the soul, not the throat. Peter held her like glass. His voice was hoarse, but he stayed strong. “Hey. You don’t have to cry like that. I’ll be coming to see you as often as I can. Every break I get, I’m there. You’ve got your laptop—I installed Skype myself. We’ll call every day if you want. You’re not alone, Ann. I got you, baby girl.” She shook harder. “But I’ll miss you, Pee. I don’t know anyone there. What if it’s lonely? What if I can’t—”

She was nearly twenty-four and hadn’t got a mile past Lonesome Dove, which wasn’t fast progress considering that she had only been twelve when her parents got nervous about Yankees and left Mobile. That much slow progress would have discouraged most women, but Lorena didn’t allow her mind to dwell on it. She had her flat days, of course, but that was mostly because Lonesome Dove itself was so flat. She got tired of looking out the window all day and seeing nothing but brown land and gray chaparral. In the middle of the day the sun was so hot the land looked white. She could see the river from her window, and Mexico. Lippy told her she could make a fortune if she

‌ "I he​ard there’s a small, quiet town‌ in the co​un​tryside that doesn't have a s⁠ingle‍ maritime r​e‌gist⁠ry, a single c​ontainer, or‌ a‍ si​ngle ledger. Just people w​ho live thei​r lives wit‍hout ch‍ecki‌ng the b⁠ackground noise of the world. No s​irens, no flashbulbs, just the quiet‍ h​um of ex​istence⁠.​" Damien laughe‍d, a so⁠und t‍hat see‍med to surprise e‍v​en him. He pull‌ed her clos‍er, hi⁠s arms wrapping aro​u​nd​ her wit‌h a familiar​, protective intensi‍ty‌ that now fe​lt like a homecoming. "A p⁠lace without a ledger. It sounds li​ke heaven.‌ It sounds like‌ we might a⁠ctual‍ly​ s‌ur​v​ive this."

Darkness. She closed her eyes. And Leonie's voice heard again. You sound like you're slowing down. A hysterical laughter escaped her. Short. Almost scared. How absurd it was all. She really went down. And now she sat on an island she didn't even know if she had a name had. Mara raised the view of the horizon. Just sea. In all directions. No ships. No houses. No sounds of human life. For the first time in her life, she understood what loneliness really meant.

And _cried_. For the first time in 18 years. Rylan patted his face. _Seven_. _Four_. _Both_. _Neither_. “_Not _lonely_ now_,” he said. And _smiled_. _Whole_. ---