The town lay silent and calm. Unchanged. Held within the moment each architectural element was brought into being. Nothing moved unless under the command of the warm tireless breeze. Empty of all souls, of all sounds with only natures gentle undulating breath. Light shone steadily from buildings where there truly was no one at home.
The traffic signal changed, and green light won over red and bathed its lifeforce over every surface it could reach. For a brief moment Grace kept her foot on the brake before slowly allowing the pressure to release. The emptiness, the hollow pit that had grown through her body, her soul, her being, began to fill, began to comfort a hunger that only this one thing could satisfy. From a small raised plot at the head of Main Street an imposing two storey building stood apart overlooking its surroundings. The road became subdued in a bulbous T-junction, its wide left and right turns coming back into itself like an open flower.
The dominant building looked down the length of Main Street and was made up of large oblong blocks of smooth sand coloured stone and sat behind a wide set of eight stone stairs which proceeded a large double dark wooden door. Above the door a single light gently moved and swayed beneath its short thin chain.
During the winter rain, and the time when the desert hazed and chilled in the early morning, the tears would stream down from this house. Water rushed with purpose; its direction guided as if by a familiar hand. Heavy, thick droplets cleaned the streets of dust and freshened the air. In one of the hottest places on earth, where the summer temperatures made a torture of themselves, when the rain came it thundered with a vengeance and struck hard upon the ground. The sight was rare, its impression lasting.
To the right of the staircase a large sky-blue car reflected the lights near it. The white walled tyres contrasted to give an individual elegance. Grace knew the car had been cleaned recently, probably that day. It had remained like a memorial, rounded, bulging and overly large, not driven for years but kept and beautiful. She had felt small while sat on the wide white leather seats, even at the stage when she had stopped growing, even when she had reluctantly, on only one occasion, sat behind the thin steering wheel. Her first taste of driving. Her father nervous as he seemingly talked without breath his own gaze on the car controls and conscious of his teenage daughter every movement. The parking place had always been here, a slight rise in the road that allowed it to show off its form, allowed it to stand as if the whole town was its showroom.
Grace turned her own steering wheel and parked on the street to the left of the staircase. The engine purred, clicked and gave a faint shudder as it rested from its work. Silence surrounded her, wrapped her up tightly and comforted her. She sat motionless, taking in the soothing feeling of arrival.
The town belonged to one person. Nobody else inhabited the many apartments, worked in the many shops. Only one other person, the caretaker, walked through the streets and buildings. A respectful figure haunting the shadows. Older than all the buildings in the new town and someone her father had admired and looked up to. The caretaker’s own choice had been to make Alonetown his life’s undertaking. Withdrawn in his own thoughts, breathing and living life in solitude. Grace had rarely seen the caretakers face, had never sat and conversed the way family should do. Limits gone, an extension of your own inner thoughts. Her father had described him as a supplicant. No recognisable features, hidden or on the surface, connected him to their blood, however, in a town where only one house held home another continued presence should always be treated as family.
The sign for Alonetown could have read ‘Population 1001’. The streets and buildings could have been busy with voices and movement. The smell of life could have invaded unnoticed among bodies of all ages, of all shapes, of all sizes. A coexistence of life moving through and past the shelter provided. Every facility was real. Water flowed from nearby wells and pumps to the east. Power pulsed through lines fed by cutting edge geothermal to the west. The stores were stocked and restocked. The small medical building had the necessary equipment and the school vacant desks and blank blackboards. In tune with the small cemetery, its three symmetrical gravestones lacked only life and the passage of society.
Grace looked at it as the perfect town. The perfect living spaces. She had never brought anyone here. Had never had the need to explain that the most precious thing to her, a thing that felt like her true friend, was a town devoid of people yet full of life. The concept itself was not alien to anyone who would take a moment to think about it. After all, a child would hug a toy bear or as an adult name a car. Friends and warm blankets can take different forms, but the meaning remains.
Gathering up the two envelopes and the small brown bottle she pushed the small door wide and exited the car. Like walking into a friendly and grateful home she stepped into a slow cooling breeze and a serene silence that ebbed all around her. The time of year was perfect. Late Autumn when the night temperatures dropped a little and you could breathe easy during the day. Few occasions had called for her to visit in the hotter months. During the height of summer sun, the town was given over as the devil’s playground. Only the main house was kept cool, its large air conditioning unit, although hidden, gave a low growl to its existence.
At age thirteen, so many years ago, sneaking outside at mid-day she found that walking, even in what shade there was, was nearly impossible. The dry heat had scorched the back of her throat, the hairs in her nostrils had felt as though they were burning with every attempted breath. Hot, oxygen burnt air caused her to gulp and claw after just a few minutes. Forcing her lungs to rest, she had run back into the house and spent the next few minutes gasping in front of the purring white vents. A lesson had been learned; cool ice cubes lost their shape on impact. So many years ago.