yay I’m back to writing during my lunch period 
miserable town
Millions of people die every day. So as she wrote in her journal, Viola Woods understood how her theories may have seemed a tad dramatic. But she’d swear up and down, on her most expensive docs– she wasn’t grasping at straws. Something sinister was brewing in Westbrook.
Viola moved to Westbrook to live with her grandfather at age 17, after an accident left her orphaned. Nearly 4 years, Viola had lived in that boring little town, she was confident she was familiar with the daily death rate. She did work for the coroner’s office, after all. As of late, Viola had been inexplicably busy at work. In the past 30 days, 30 Westbrook townsfolk had died. Quite mysteriously, Viola would add. First it seemed like a terrible coincidence. A terrible, and terribly strange phenomena, the people of Westbrook must’ve been unlucky. She quickly dismissed her theory. 3 deaths in a row is a coincidence. 30 deaths, however, are not.
Viola sat at her dining room table, head in hands, obsessing over the spike in deaths– as she had every night for the past month. Elbows pressing into the chipped wood of the decades old dining room table, the only noise came from Viola’s leg shaking under the table. Viola had always been a perfectionist, she was a type A personality, she favored STEM over the humanities, for God’s sake, she was a scientist. Viola loved explaining the unknown. It was why she was so drawn to science, nothing was left unexplained. Perhaps it was unhealthy, her fixation with answers, with explanations. It, of course, stemmed from her childhood. Her parents’ death was sudden, and although as a child the only answer she ever received explained hit was an “accident”. That was never good enough for her.
Viola sighed, sitting up. It was frustrating, nobody believed her. How was it that she was the only one who cared to notice what was happening this (quote) godforsaken town? Another question she would’ve liked to be answered. But alas, she could only answer so much herself. And she was slightly preoccupied with the whole “suspicious amounts of suspicious deaths” thing.
“Viola?”
She turned around, her grandfather was home, and he was beginning to notice the change in her behavior.
“Hey, pop.” Viola smiled at her grandfather, complexion grey, dark circles beneath her eyes. Her grandfather made his way tot he dining table, and pulled a chair next to Viola. Resting his cane on the back of his chair, Mr Woods sank into the chair.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” He inquired, head tilting slightly. Viola was usually at work on Tuesdays at 1 pm, but she had been sent home early. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her obvious sleep deprivation or her nervous ranting. It was very likely a combination of the two. Nevertheless, Viola didn’t care. Why would she want to be in an environment where nobody believed the truth, anyway?
“They let me leave early.”
Mr Woods paused. “Really?”
Viola shrugged, leaning back in her chair, arms folded. Mr Woods knew she was lying, and Viola knew he knew she was lying, and I’m sure he knew she knew he knew she was lying. Or something like that. Her grandfather could always read her very easily, albeit she wasn’t the best at hiding her emotions in general.
Mr Woods huffed, scooting his chair closer to the table. They both paused, unsure how to continue.
“Viola, what is it you’ve been working on? I haven’t seen you get a good nights sleep in almost a month.
“It has been a month.” Viola sighed and thought, what’s one more person thinking I’m crazy? “Pop, I’ve been noticing something. Something really weird. And nobody will believe me.”
Mr Woods’ face ran nearly white. Almost as if he knew what she would say next. Almost as if he knew the exact “phenomena” plaguing the town of Westbrook.
“Something weird?”
Viola nodded, “I know it sounds crazy. Believe me, I know. But this past month, the death rate has spiked.”
“That happens from time to time, dear. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
Now slightly frowning, Viola continued, “It’s not a coincidence, Pop. I know it’s not.” She took a deep breath, “In the past 30 days, 30 people have died, each day at the same time.”
A moment of silence followed.
“Pop?”
The month wasn’t over yet. It was the 31st day. Mr Woods buried his face tin his hands, mirroring the behavior of his granddaughter.
The 31st day, the 31st death.
Mr Woods frowned. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Viola.”