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A TRAGEDY DOESN'T JUST LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION OF RUBBLE REMAINS ON THE GROUND, with a few cuts and bruises on your skin. It leaves gaping holes in hearts, it leaves gaps in lives where a lost soul should be, and it leaves a sorrowful cloud to hover and linger with every waking hour, and every sleeping dream. Nobody likes not knowing what comes next, what lurks within the darkness that you can't see; the fear of the unknown that exudes paranoia, yet, for some, a tingling thrill. In Hawkins, you had to have been crazy to find the enjoyment of not knowing, but perhaps not crazy enough.
Perhaps, you'd be lying awake, pondering the possibilities of life after death; how one can just, well, simply disappear. Such a definite ending, but with such an undetermined time of when, where and how? It had recently been high recurring thoughts that stuck to the minds of those who lived in Hawkins, clutching to their brains with sharp claws. They were thoughts that followed close behind those who had also decided to leave Hawkins: as if just another member of the family. Grief ridden and traumatised civilians no longer felt safe anywhere anymore, not in their homes, not in their towns, not even in their own dreams. Closed eyelids were a sign of vulnerability, even for a mere millisecond, as it lowered their guard and allowed a split time to see nothing but black. To the sane people, those who were scared to even blink seemed foolish, stupid and naive; to those who were riddled with fear, it was a weakness, unknown to themselves, that they saw as their own strength.
After the events in Hawkins, Joyce had come to the decision to move her and her family, along with Eleven, to a safer town not too far away, but far enough from the dangers that made Hawkins fearful. Anderson, Indiana was, in comparison to Hawkins, much safer and a lot more welcoming. Upon entering the town of Anderson, a large sign could be seen on the side of the road that promoted the town, held up by sturdy wooden poles, with a background in shades mixed of yellow and orange, and white cursive writing that stated the name 'Anderson' so elegantly. Anderson, Indiana was indecisive, however, with the year in the town always beginning as a cold chill that then swiftly changed to a sweltering seventh heaven. It was a never-ending cycle that just kept coming back around and around, and around. For those who had lived in Anderson their whole lives, it had become quite a drag; a tiresome cliche that had no desire to change, but for the new arrivals, it was a shift of bliss that occupied the interest in their minds. It allowed them to forget about everything back in the town over; it let them leave behind the destruction of Hawkins. But, for those new arrivals, that had travelled from Hawkins, there was no leaving trauma behind; instead, there was only packing it up amongst the rest of their belongings and keeping it hidden from the naked eye. It was larger, more populated and far more picturesque than that of Hawkins, and Joyce had felt herself fall in love almost instantly with the place, and she would have found herself be completely in love had it not been for the guilt that sat in her stomach: a constant reminder of why she had to move, and why she had to move with the extra company of a young girl.
