One place that I remember distinctly is the place were I spent the majority of my childhood, my neighborhood. The only place I remember living until now. The neighborhood was always filled with people of all kinds; Playing different types of music that surprisingly sounded great together; The best thing about this neighborhood is the sounds the children made while running around playing on the streets no matter the wether. I also remember describing to people that the buildings does not in fact look exactly the same, but that you had to look closely because everyone both people that did and didn’t live there didn’t see the slight differences that gave these buildings character of there own while also setting them apart from one another. From being a slighter lighter color or having cracks in the wall these buildings have a different story to tell while also giving the illusion of being as unique as I thought everyone who lived there though they were, but I soon same to realize that maybe I was the only one who saw theses differences. Although these are observable differences there were some things that never changed. The way that people greeted you on the way to school every morning and when you come back in the afternoon. The way that every Saturday early in the morning there was already people awake and in the streets with their music playing. The way that nothing about how the people acted or the way that they lived their lives ever changed but the things around them did without them noticing.
After finishing the story I only have two questions about this story and the are
What happened to Mrs.Thornwald?
Also maybe it was not murder, but how or why did that become the go to conclusion?
