Unseen Ghosts

It began with whispers in the corridors of power, rumors of austerity measures looming on the horizon. Soon, those whispers turned to harsh decrees as the government tightened its grip on the nation's finances. The impact rippled outward, reaching even the remote corners.

Houses that had once been filled with laughter and warmth now stood as hollow shells, their windows boarded up against the encroaching darkness. The factories that had once churned out goods and prosperity now lay silent and abandoned.

But amidst the desolation, there remained a flicker of life. The town's aging population, those who had weathered many storms and refused to be driven from their homes, still walked the streets. They were the last remnants of a once-thriving community, the guardians of its fading memory.

Among them was A, a weathered elder with hands stained by a lifetime of toil. A had spent decades

working in the town's paper mill, watching as the machines hummed with life and the scent of freshly cut wood filled the air. But now, the mill stood silent and deserted, a monument to lost dreams and broken promises.

Despite the surrounding emptiness, A refused to leave and wandered the abandoned streets with footsteps echoing like whispers in the wind. And when walking, A collected scraps of paper, remnants of a world that was slowly fading away.

With trembling hands, A turned the scraps into crude tools, piecing together a makeshift journal to document the town's decline. A wrote of the empty houses and shuttered businesses, of the whispers that echoed through the night like the breath of unseen ghosts.