What was once a busy roadway that led to Butterpond was now a network of vines, grasses and roots that had taken hold of every bit they could get. The crisp and clean looking town now looked more like a jungle as trees and gardens grew beyond their now unkempt boundaries.
Most doors still stood sturdy in their frames. They were a little dirty, but if you only focused on the doors you’d expect people to come out as if nothing had changed. Dry rot, vines and other undesired vegetation had taken the place of paint on most buildings and created their own kind of decoration.
Butterpond, once a growing community of hundreds of families had all but faded away from history. The many sounds of wild animals who’ve made their home in this town are carried in the wind and give it a new sense of liveliness and vibrancy.
The town hall, once the pride and glory of this town, was turned into a new pride and glory by the various animals that lived here. Birds, cats, dogs and all sorts of rodents had all taken their spots.
It was a strange feeling to be in the footsteps of so many lives now long forgotten and not knowing what became of the people who once spent their lives here. But not all was lost. In a way the legacy of this town lived on through the animals that lived here now, the spirit was still alive albeit in a different manner.
The once smooth network of roads that let to Bournemouth was barely discernible through the weeds and grasses that had reclaimed it. Gardens once looked after and trimmed to perfection were now rough and overgrown, returning back to their chaotic natural state.
Doors were boarded up tightly and some showed signs of painted symbols with meanings known only to those who put them there, but whoever put them there’s long gone too. Many roofs had collapsed and in some cases had taken the entire building with it. Others looked in decent shape and were simply dirty and filled with bird nests.
Bournemouth, once rich with life, hopes, dreams and aspirations had all but faded away from history. Were it not for the occasional bird call the only sounds in this town was that of the wind. The sounds of market vendors, playing families and a loving community were no more.
Noble men and women were once called upon from the fire station, ready to save whoever needed saving. Unfortunately this town couldn’t be saved. Funnily enough it was mostly cats that had made this station their home.
The more time would pass the more the traces of those who lived here will disappear. Even now there were only remnants left, it’d be only a short while until there was nothing left. But there was an awful feeling of hopelessness you couldn’t escape from. Even if those who lived here returned too much had been lost already and it’d never be the same again.
