The laundry was swaying in the wind, a tire swing attached to a tree branch moved quietly. A tricycle had fallen over by the side of the road. Un-mowed grass stirred in the breeze and the telephone wire swung back and forth. Inside, flowers sat in a vase on the table, dirty dishes piled in the sink and a grape, sat unnoticed, rotting under the island. The boy’s room still stunk of too much Axe and a hint of weed. Piles of clothes and candy wrappers littered the floor. An unfinished book report lay on his unmade bed. Posters of gothic rock bands that disturbed his mother hung on the wall and a guitar sat in a chair in the corner of the room. A needle was hidden in his underwear drawer. The room next door smelled of nail polish. Barbies lay in a circle along with a few stuffed animals holding little glass teacups in their little plastic hands. Jewelry lined the dresser and dresses hung in her closet. Clothes that her mom had picked out that morning still sat folded on her bed; she had decided to wear something else with bright colors and clashing patterns instead. The last bedroom was cleaned and vacuumed. Only one side of the bed was made; the other side hadn’t been slept in for days. On the other side, the pillow was still wet from tears cried all night. In the closet, a few suit jackets stained with the smell of perfume that wasn’t hers and a hair that was much lighter than hers. In the family room, the couch had been folded out to create a bed; it was made with sheets and a blanket that had been slept in that night. Life seemed ordinary accept one thing; everything was silent. There were no birds chirping outside, no squirrels playing in the tree, no dogs barking from the neighbor’s house. There were no cars driving down the street and no little kids laughing and screaming as they played in the park behind the house. There was nothing. Everything was silent. A town without it’s people.