She loved her house but she had always hated her neighbourhood.
Her neighbours were obsessed with keeping tidy lawns, but hers was a dandelioned haven for the bees.
Every family on the street had at least two cars, but her driveway was full of planters. Her bike was just chained to the fence.
Every single one of them owned a fire pit. Instead of getting together at one house on summer evenings, every single family had their own fire with their own music blaring.
Those nights were the worst but, really, they were all making noise all the time. Car doors slamming – did no one just close a door any more? Kids squealing – had they never heard of quiet games? Lawn mowers growling – does the grass really need to be cut that often?
It was exasperating.
She had often thought of moving but she didn’t figure she could afford a new house in this market.
When the whistling noise started this morning, she thought that her neighbours had expanded the hours of their tyranny. But this was something else entirely.
She sat on her step with her morning smoothie and surveyed the damage.
She wouldn’t go so far as to say that her undamaged home was a sign of her virtues, but the fact that every other house had been essentially vapourized was definitely a sign of their sins.