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Silence filled the streets of the small town in New York. Broken street lamps kept the roads and sidewalks in shadows. There was no need to fix it. No one had walked down those sidewalks in years.
A diner, once a successful family business, was boarded up with blocks of wood. The police station was silent. There were no shouts, there were no phones ringing, there were no people. Just like all the other buildings, the offices which held back issues of "The Daily Herald" and reporter's files was now desolate. Further down the street, houses and apartments sat in the dark, wondering when a new family would move in and take away the harsh memories of what had happened in that once peaceful town. Those who had lived there before knew it as a peaceful place with obvious problems. It was a place to grow, a place for change, a place for happiness and good memories. But five years ago everything changed and the town was never the same. Now, it stood in darkness. No one lived there, no one ever visited there. It was as if it never existed.
No one would be able to tell the story accurately. Residents who had lived in that small town in upstate New York and who knew what had happened kept silent. Even the reporters, as eager for gossip as they were, didn't speak a word of it. It was as if the events had shocked them silent.
But the memories of those who lived in the town couldn't come close to knowing how it had come about as much as those who were there did. Five years was hardly enough time to rid the memories from their minds.
It had been building up for years-the hatred, the anger. Everyone in town saw it, but no one expected there to be such a conclusion, such a shocking ending.
They were two very different groups of people coming from the very same town. Neither of them interacted with each other and onlookers would be prepared to run should their paths cross.
The first group came from wealthy or above average families. There was no appointed leader in their group, for they thought of themselves as equal, but the media, eager to point fingers, chose one kid as the groups' spokesman. It was a teenager who was wise beyond his years, a kid who knew about life on the run and how to handle things. Lucky Spencer was a name commonly in the news.
The second group was known as the rough crowd. Kids with no real home life and who had a rough edge. Their hatred for the others was apparent, they showed no reason to hide it. Their leader made himself known. The name Jordan Kane, along with his right hand man Juan Santiago, was usually right beside the name Lucky Spencer in the newspapers-something that none of them appreciated too much.
The groups divided the town of Port Charles. As different as night and day, the town jokingly labeled them The Pure and The Corrupt. To both of the group's resentment, the names stuck.
Though the town didn't know, the group's hatred went deeper than the wealth. Oh, the money was hardly a part of it all. It was the territory, the conflict between mob boss' Sonny Corinthos and Anthony Moreno. The kids who needed shelter, needed money, needed someone to take care of them were easily lured in to Moreno's organization. And then the hatred grew from there. The town was divided, causing all of the residents to fear the brawls and try to protect their children. But it was to no avail.
Years later, the town remained desolate. No one walked the silent streets or had dinners at the finest restaurants. No one would tell the story. But everyone knew. Even the sidewalks and houses and the water that continued to lap up against the edge of the wooden docks. Even those inanimate objects knew what had happened to that once peaceful town. And true to the fairy tales and all good beginnings, it all happened once upon a time.
The town was quiet under the peaceful gaze of the setting sun. Below the clear sky, cars lined the driveways of the town's houses. Couples walked arm in arm towards restaurants for a late, romantic dinner for two. In the park, swings rocked as children waved goodbye to their playmates. Office buildings closed up for the evening as apartment lights turned on. The penthouses loomed over the tiny houses, tall and proud.
And in one of those penthouses a man stepped forward to gaze out at the town-his town. Hands in his suit pocket, his eyes wept over the streets and buildings. His brown eyes filled with sorrow and regret as he eyes a group of teenagers down by the docks.
''What are we doing, Jason?'' he murmured.
The other man looked up from his paperwork.
''We're working on the figures...''
Sonny Corinthos half-glanced at him, fighting off amusement, and shook his head.
''No, no. I mean out there...with this war. We're splitting this town apart.''
Jason stood from the table and walked over to where the older man stood, following his gaze down to the group at the docks.
''There's nothing that you could do.''
Sonny sighed. ''They talk about it as if it's of little importance-the town, the reporters. They hardly know what's really going on. Jason, they formed these groups in defense of us. Lucky Spencer, your sister, and their friends... They're insisting that we're good, but we're just as bad as them, we're just as bad as them..."
He closed his eyes in anguish.
''Kids do that.'' Came Jason's reply. ''They form groups and stick together, but they grow out of it.''
Sonny shook his head. ''Not when it includes this business.''
A teasing smile spread across Jason's face. ''But we're in the coffee business.''
That made Sonny laugh.
He stared out at the water, ignoring the laughter of his friends behind him, and concentrated on the ripples the pebbles made when he threw them in. Too much was on his mind tonight. Though he tried earlier, he couldn't seem to enjoy himself. He needed to be alone.
Standing up from the bench, he headed towards Kelly's. Someone called out his name, wondering where he was going, but he ignored them and kept walking. When he reached the diner, he saw that his aunt had closed up early, so he chose a seat by the door.
He wasn't alone for long. He looked up as someone's footsteps interrupted his troubling thoughts.
''Hey, Em.''
She slid into the seat in front of him and watched him for a few minutes. Knowing that he wasn't going to say anything unless she persisted, she said, ''so are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or am I going to have to guess?''
''The newspapers.'' Was his simple answer.
Emily nodded in understanding. ''What did they say this time?''
''Apparently, I'm your leader.'' He gestured to the paper at a nearby table. Emily reached for it and skimmed the front page. When she finished, she tossed the paper away and looked up.
''Lucky, those are just reporters. They think that they know everything that's going on, when they really just assume.''
Lucky sighed and shook his head. ''How did this whole thing get started?'' He asked, mostly to himself.
''We were defending Sonny.'' Emily answered. Lucky turned to her. ''There's nothing wrong with that.'' She tried to emphasize.
''There is something wrong with that when Jordan Kane gets involved with Moreno.'' His shook his head and stared at her. ''Because we come from good homes, because we have money, because Sonny and Jason are our friends, we are their enemies. It's our fault, Em.'' He hurried on as Emily shook her head. ''Yes, it's our fault. Moreno lured them in. He gave them money and expensive clothes and made them turn against us by having Jordan and his friends defend him. He wired them to hate Sonny, to hate us. But it is our fault. Because we started it with Sonny.''
''You cannot blame us or Sonny Corinthos, Lucky.'' She told him heatedly. ''They eagerly went to Moreno, on their own . They are the one who started the hate, Lucky. Remember that.''
He dropped his gaze and glanced towards the docks. ''It has to end with us, doesn't it?'' He asked quietly.
Emily shook her head slowly. ''No. It has to end.''
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