It was an idyllic location, in a remote valley surrounded by Vermont’s Green Mountains. The village was the type of place that tourists love to photograph, recalling “yesteryear’s New England”.
There was only one road in, and it was washed out by Irene in 2011. The town asked for the bridge to not be repaired.
I walked down the empty street and stopped at a large structure surrounded by picnic tables.
I heard that all meals where communal events.
What happened during that last meal on the day the Preacher said the world would end?
Only the old oak knew.
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Word count = 100