Constructive Writing!

The Dust

The town was barren, save for a few coyotes and vultures scavenging the arid landscape. Dust emerged from the sediment below with every gust, enveloping the buildings in a sandpaper smoke-screen.

The sun's heat was blaring as it began to dip behind the horizon. The moon had not yet risen, though the sky bore the first few freckles of night.

Small buildings were erected in neat rows. There were no lights flickering in windows, no oil burning outside of a formerly bustling bar. It was a ghost town.

The palette was chosen with surroundings in mind. As if to camouflage itself, many of the buildings bore tan, beige, and cream colored exteriors. A few doors and shutters boasted a deep, forest green. They waved with every wind gust, creaking as they swung from their neglected, rusting hinges.

The sun continued to set. Clouds moved stealthily to blanket the newly freckled twilight as the moon made her appearance. The Saguaros were back-lit by the white light, silhouettes of giants against the beyond.

Wood alongside the buildings had been aged by the paint, chipping with time and yielding to the sandstorms that regularly battered the abandoned town. Small, ochre birds harvested the paint and carried the fragments off to a nest far beyond the horizon. Coyotes cackled to one another in the abandoned saloon, as if to catch up from a long day at the mines.

The town had a ghostly comfort. It would welcome many forms of life, giving them sustenance, resources, shelter. It became a safe haven. It was true, though, as soon as the town became overrun by greed and violence, it would sink into the sand. Those who portrayed their true evils would be trapped by the town, memorialized only by the occasional skull in the alleyway. 

She had returned, though, and found her calling once again. The wildlife greeted this town as they would Mother Nature, for they knew her power. 

Of course, it's only a matter of time.