Winter had fallen upon the small community, chilling to the bone. A full moon rose in the night sky, gleaming upon the earth. The empty community shrieked with silence, its blanket covering its inhabitants.

It was an old neighborhood, an abandoned jailhouse near the center, a graveyard of twelve anonymous faces beside. It was a place that never changed. The same old people resided there until they shriveled and disappeared. Change was frowned upon.

The community never welcomed new faces with open arms. Instead they reluctantly watched them, cautious of their wondering eyes. But as the cities around the small community became more populated, change became the inevitable. Tourists printed the untouched grounds. New roads and buildings were created around them. The small community became a community of hate. Hate toward outsiders.

It was a lonely woman, not even in her forties that welcomed the newcomers, showing them the sights and the sounds of the growing neighborhood. Her house stood at the corner of the graveyard, its rotting wood somehow insolating the inside, still offering shelter. The once green tiles that rested on the roof laid in pieces, wood peaking from underneath toward the sky.

It was one morning, though, when she was awoken by a knock on her door. Wearing only her pale yellow nightgown she greeted the two men who stood in legal uniforms. Laws were given, instructions were made. Politely the woman allowed the two men inside to discuss the events that were occurring in the growing neighborhood. Never once did she frown upon the two men. Only smiled, her large brown eyes glimmering. All three chatted inside, sipping the mugs of warm tea made by the woman. And everything was okay. Changes were made.

More was added to the community, its population increasing. And still the woman welcomed more. And more until the community became huge. And everything was okay. Changes were made.

Over the years the woman aged, her bones creaking, joints stiff. But still her big brown eyes glimmered, smiling upon everything they gazed upon. Her once pale yellow nightgown was stained with dirt, her hands calloused.

And when the woman's peaceful death approached, the community mourned, remembering how much the woman cared about the neighborhood. The original inhabitants of the community rested her in the graveyard filled with hundreds of anonymous faces. And the small, isolated community remained quiet under the full moon, the silence covering them in a blanket.

And everything was okay.

Change was taken care of.

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