I
The people of Utensil said that this town was the happiest place in the United States, but this particular morning the town was as grey, bleak, and obsolete as any other. The archaic peeling and cracking paint on the old houses seemed to be as faded as the people who lived in them were. If these walls could talk, on this morning they would be as silent as they were mute. No birds sung, no dogs barked or cried, and not even a single car moved out of its spot. It would have been impossible to any car leave anyway, as the eerie fog had settled down in Utensil overnight. The whole town appeared hungover, ill and feeling the boundaries of death itself.
The people who lived here were not many, and usually were retired people who settled outside the city. Besides them, there were a few families, but mostly adults teaching at the nearby college. The college itself was older than the town, and the people had built the town around the college. The few families that stayed there were usually drop outs, or students who couldn't find a place to live anywhere else. There was no town hall, and all town meetings were held in the museum, where the library was located as well. Small towns were known to be full of friendly and close people, but the folk here were anything but. The only source of real happiness, it seemed like, came from the students in the college itself, doing God-knows-what with God-knows-whom.
Needless to say, nothing about this town seemed like the happy and cheery place the people had praised, but it will make do for the setting now. Everything in this town ran by compromise, so it would seem illogical for the writer not to compromise on its setting. But nevertheless, this is where the story begins, as most stories do tend to start at the beginning.