In the town of Nore, there’s a perfect, little place for one and for all to call home.
There’s a perfect, little park where the trees grow large and wise, lending their shade to beautiful weddings or just days of marriage to a good book.
And when the light breeze of summer sweeps through the town center, a perfect, little chime sounds in the front of Mrs. Thompson’s flower shop. It can be heard all the way at the bronze statue of town founder Edward Crane located adjacent to the perfect, little communal fountain, and serves as a friendly soundtrack when you view the statue’s plaque, which reads: “Community is what you make it.”
There are no automobile accidents in Nore for there are no distractions nor any need to rush when you live in a perfect, little town. The general store is open until 8 o’clock… or until it’s certain there won’t be any more customers for the day.
Inside the town church, fathers lead children in perfect, little prayers — the kind that God takes time out from His busy schedule to lend undivided attention.
Found in the peaceful fields next to the perfect, little general store there’s a perfect, little shoe — size 3 in toddlers — next to a perfectly round little pool of red.
When Anabelle Reed saw this on her morning walk with her two perfect, little children, the prideful mother’s rosy cheeks became porcelain white before she placed her hands on the back of her little ones’ heads, pivoted and led them back home without a word.
And when Pastor Stevens discovered this perfect, little horror scene he smiled a nervous smile and mumbled something to himself before checking the time on his wrist and walking on as planned.
That same night in the gloaming, if one were so inclined, one could eavesdrop on barely perceptible perfect, little whispers behind doors closed.
You see, you can’t have a perfect, little town unless everyone wills it so. It’s for this reason, perhaps, that a perfectly devastated mother and father chose instead of justice to leave well enough alone and pack their things into their perfect, little station wagon with its empty child seat and left Nore without a goodbye.
In the town of Nore, there’s a perfect murderer, for he knows that the perfect crime should be committed in a perfect, little town.