Green Hills, O.K

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Green Hills Oklahoma was a little prairie town, dust wood-paneled and quaint with the beauty of a country flower, one of those pioneer settlements sprouting of the wild oated ground; but despite the name, it was not green hilled. It lay in a small plot of land inside the gentle basin that sloped down from the mountains of the North and West, brown and saffron fields like griddle-cakes on the pan. It was one of those town where everybody knew everybody else, where the daily weather affected the people's mood, and the sheriff was held as the eye of all good and bad; except the people of Green Hills were an extremely reclusive people.

No one ever ventured out of their house past eight. Every light was extinguished by ten, and the curtains were shut so fast a brief breath dashed out the windows. Dust gathered on the white paint-curled windowsills, and dead insects burrowed down into the ledges, wet ants infesting the sprouted sedges. Not a soul stirred after eleven, the cool breeze the only whisperings running throughout the house like a quick breath.

Green Hills was fortunate to have a mayor and a sheriff and a practitioner all packaged into one man by the name of Smith Robert. He was a natural leader at heart, the only mayor of Green Hills since it's formation and a popular figure, although most people preferred to keep to themselves. Ray led a mostly hands-off government, letting the people go about their own affairs freely without interruption or interrogation. Police intervention was rare in Green Hills, handled without much contention when needed, usually involving the settlement of some petty dispute or minor arguments between neighbors.

The people of Green Hills were different than the rest of the Western Nation. They were homely, privatized, keen and almost bitter in manner; so naturally it wasn't long before the locals from surrounding towns gave them a sharp eye. Nobody could seem to figure where Green HIlls came from and where their citizen's originated. Most people, perhaps in that day, could perhaps trace a few generations back to the East or perhaps Europe (if they were to sift about a foot deep in the genealogical yellowed-papers); but there existed no official documents concerning Green Hills or its establishment. Green HIlls, as far as they knew, had always been there: existing when they came and probably would still exist when they left. It was a total mystery to them, and so naturally evoked much attention (bred from some sort of fear or jealousy, for there is both in something we don't comprehend) from the citizens of the surrounding towns. Shrewd BIble thumpers came in on their high horses, tossing their hair braids about their necks as they scanned the empty roads up and down, racing back to their homes to gossip loudly of the godless heathens that lived in the forsaken Green Hills. Adventurous constables or deputies traveled to Green Hills for a mindless excursion (turned intense examination), tracing their slender fingers along the dust ridden, white-chipped door frames with a disapproving frown as their horses muttered and spat in the midday glare. Fat-faced imps came peeked over the fences then scuttled back laughing; older boys and girls gathered outside the fences late at night, up to no good in most cases, turning things over with the simmering passion of a sadist as they lifted frail lines of forbidden smoke into the night air. They talked of nasty things and doings, staying out late in the night, returning just a hair before the sun rose, skittering back through their windows into the safety of their beds.

It was early in night yet, the moon like a silver coin in the sky, slippery and shiny like an eye nestled in the clouds. There were no trees to reverb the wind or leaves to rustle ominously in the distance; the silence was left to the thin, whispering of wheat reeds that bent and swayed. There was a boy through the sea of brown, stepping blindly over the rocks and mice without thought, his vision concentrated on a singular point in the distance. It was the figure of a tree, standing out from the ground, purple and obscure, the only upright structure for miles in that direction, like a rod plunged into a waves of grain.

He came underneath the tree, a sprawling oak to be specific, feeling his way about through the intricate root knots and mazes with his feet and hands moving soundlessly. He reached the trunk of the tree and began to work frantically, running his palms up and down the coarse bark in some desperate attempt to locate something, with each passing second his rapid-fire energy growing more and more urgent. He stumbled around the tree blindly, his hand like a insane spider moving nimble and quick across the face of the bark, searching, scanning. Then he felt something and clenched his sweaty fist around it.

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⏰ Last updated: Feb 21, 2016 ⏰

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