Member-only story
Homestead Street
A satire: make of it what you can
Once upon a moment, the residents of Homestead street woke to find a pile of rubbish on their streets. It was an ungainly sight of filth, smack in the middle of the spotless road and perfect lawn that cut through their perfect picture. The residents of the street were distraught. Nothing like this had ever happened before. This littering of a once pristine street was such a big deal, that the clouds joined them in commiseration, blocking the sun from looking in, and casting an imposing shadow over Homestead street, its homes and her people.
As though summoned by unseen forces, faces emerged from the rows of silent houses, and gathered around the filth. Miss Strangefellow — the first resident on the street, generally regarded as the residents’ spokesperson spoke up. Miss Strangefellow — a woman in her late forties with a peculiarly small head, pointy facial features eyed the filth over her large horn-rimmed glasses, cleared her throat, and spoke up in a chirpy voice that mocked the seriousness on her face.
“Today is a sad day for us on this street. I cannot just imagine where to begin ….”
Overwhelmed by emotions, she began to sob.
“How? Who has brought this … this thing into our midst? We’d need to investigate this and bring the resident whodunnit to book…
