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Weekly Contest #16
Autumn leaves came falling down from the trees. Few green remained on the trees on the twenty-fifth morning of October. The world was turning orange, reflecting off of the windows on the homes resting on Madding Lane. Victorian homes, most likely hiding a neglectful father and spoiled children. Deborah Jones strolled down this very road, heading to a cul de sac with few homes, near the greaser trailer park. It was 1952, and Deborah, or Debby, was 15. It was typical of girls her age to have a romantic partner sweeping them off their feet, or ...
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