Serial Killers: A Short Story

I felt it the moment we crossed the fuzzy line that divided us from the familiar Indiana and united us to an alienated city. The boundary was invisible; Not even a welcome sign stood to indicate our entrance. The streets had been adopted; They seemed entirely abandoned by mankind and surrendered to mother nature, a ruthless caretaker. Mature weeds were well rooted in every crevasse of the city, and were now claiming houses and buildings for ransom; But people here can't afford to fix their problems. I asked myself why: Why is recovery such an impossible mission for a once successful city, both socially and economically? My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by my awestruck sister; “Look!”. She pointed out the window at a fast approaching building,
And the customers in the tiny bar in this weary town of 80,000 waits to hear the score of their new famous resident. Seven women have been brutally murdered by Darren Deon Vann; All of them still need to be identified. We’re told the only thing lacking in this case is a motive, but who needs one? There are 10,000 abandoned houses here and some still hold the remnants of their previous owners. What can a politician do for a town so messed up that thousands of abandoned houses are simply part of the scenery, where a serial killer can dump bodies at random without the fear of being caught? The answer is nothing, and they know it but will never say it. There have been plans- some of them good- but none of them effective enough to save a lost cause. As long as the city claims open space it remains a playground for the twisted games of impulsive men, and the people here have no choice but to play
It’s small and discreet but can hardly be missed considering its presence is marked by an elaborate marble monument surrounded by florescent green grass and well-kept flower beds. The city wasn’t always pitiful. In Michael’s early years, no place seemed as lively as his hometown. Hundreds of shops and restaurants aligned the crowded streets; Schools were thriving; theaters were filled to full capacity, and employment rates peaked. The soil was perfect for growing and harvesting young talent, and Jackson seemed to be a ready crop. His fast-growing fame obliterated the normalcy of his upbringing, and he struggled to find security in himself during the awkward years of adolescence. Day to day life may have been challenging, but each stage performance provided Michael with a short respite from his worries. He belonged on the stage, where all his anxiety could fade behind a back drop of screaming fans and contagious melodies. Eventually Michael Jackson moved away from his hometown, but his roots remain in the grounds of Gary and always will. The boy that grew up in the little white house on Jackson Street was Gary personified, his heart being just as empty as the streets and just as abandoned as the buildings left to rot on the