The old rickety railroad tracks swirl and curl like a long zipper straight through the bustling town square. Blood brown and sticky, the mud supports the weights and measures of industrial innovation. The dirt remains laced with native feathers of ancient marauders who had once smelt freedom roaming the Fair Banks.
Now, the mud breaks, bubbles, and boils.
Not a square, but a circle, the epicenter of Contentment is cracked in half by splintered, weathered wood joined by rusty cold steel rails and nails.
The townsfolk of Contentment saw the Square Circle as common ground. A peaceful place to view the Community, join in jolt at Java, and pick the finest fruits freshly at the Market.
These days, a man named Bache feels the shakes growing stronger. He recognizes the rattles that shook up the land. He feels thunderous tumbles rippling over the River in the Dale. He hears the trembles clink the glasses at the Village Manor.
Bache barely sleeps as the quakes under his mattress hinder peaceful, slumberful snores. He senses the vibrations.
They grumble louder each day.
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