“There’s a gang in Hartland!” I said to my friend Katie. “There have been three diatribes from the gang in the past week.”

There are wanted placards hanging on the telephone posts around town. The first person with information on the gang will receive remuneration for their help. The Sunday paper stated that their last attack was at the town square farmers market. “I was fortuitous to have left the farmers market last Friday before they arrived!” I yelped. Why would someone want to start a gang in Hartland? There are 600 people here, all of a prestigious status. I didn’t think that there was a group of people of that ilk here. Incoherent thoughts came to mind. Why are they doing such acts? What if I had decided to spend more time at the farmers market? Would I still be alive today?


The news reporter commented on the nominal effort of the local police department. Although they are coming through the neighborhoods searching for people accused of suspicious acts; they have not yet caught those who have perpetrated the crime. The police force and gang are integral components of the chaos that has been begun in this beloved town. “I am no longer going to watch the news. The world has become a place of violence and hatred,” my mother commented while turning off the television. “I feel as though the publicity of these diatribes have only increased the ego of the gang.” “If the police do not begin to inhibit these attacks from occurring, we need to find a person who will.”