1 Miserable Comedy - 1

[Observer]

If you were to ask the ordinary citizen residing in or commuting to Hawrtfull, Colorado, why "Hawrtfull" was spelled with a "w" and a "full" considering that its founder, Nathan Hartford, was very clearly a Nathan and not a Hawrtfull, they would be at a total loss for words for at the very least enough time to retract the question.

However, if you chose to allow it to linger, they would proceed to either tell you "I don't know" or come up with a half-joking, fabricated explanation off the tops of their heads. Not many people know the nefarious reason why Hawrtfull's name is the way it is. It's an otherwise tidy little town, with a charming set of suburbs, a small but thriving school, a quaint main street lined with mom-and-pop shops, and its token chains pushed to the outer edges by steady local business.

The embarrassment of admitting to being born and raised there is entirely the name and the management. Unfortunately for Hawrtfull, no matter who it chooses for mayor, the unlucky candidate always seems to be inflicted with a curse characterized by the peculiar system of being an excellent mayor for the full term or two full consecutive terms, yet adamantly refusing whenever petitioned to change the name of the town, only to recover the very day after their title changes from "Mayor" to "Former Mayor", joining the ranks of the people in feeling profound embarrassment due to the name.

The reason, by the way, that Hawrtfull, Colorado is named Hawrtfull, Colorado, is that it is a city located in Colorado. As for the reason why Hawrtfull is named Hawrtfull, the on-record explanation for this name is that the surveyors that traveled there to mark it on the map were all, rather unfortunately for their positions, hard of hearing, a problem that would only worsen in a city near the Rocky Mountains.

That explanation is incorrect. But that's not the important part right now. What matters is why Hawrtfull matters.

Hawrtfull, being an old area yet untouched by corporate greed, sits at the end of several train lines towards the rest of society, as its roads are rocky and untrustworthy. The one train line that does not end there, however, begins there, and takes a journey that is very consistently one-way: the chugging path to Ilus Academy.

A reclusive institution, Ilus Academy is a bit of a local curiosity to the denizens of Hawrtfull. Nobody in the area ever seems to be able to work up the desire to visit, and nobody who visits ever seems to clearly remember. However, rumor has it that Ilus is composed of enormous buildings, some gothic, some modern, and all quite grand. The buildings designed to be austere have flair in spades, and the buildings designed to be practical and angular are said to shine in sunset and sunrise from the light falling into their expansive windows. Though chaotic, it would be a hit tourist destination due to the way the individually beautiful structures blend together into a world of brilliant architecture. That is, if anybody could ever snag a picture, since devices have a habit of going dead and cameras have a habit of jamming in the area, on top of the difficulty people have in remembering the scene itself.

Being lucky enough to host the only train line to Ilus due to being the closest town and, as can be inferred from the utter lack of train lines, the only path there, Hawrtfull enjoys a certain vogue amongst people who manage to stumble upon news of this bizarre school. However, any thoughts that can be given on the clientele are, as a given, fabricated, since not even those who take shifts at the ticket windows seem to be able to remember who takes a ticket to the dorms towards the end of August and who comes chugging back at the start of June.

The train station is a curiosity amongst the people to be sure. A true enigma, there never seems to be any theory that fits quite right with Hawrtfull's connection to Ilus. The only things that Hawrtfullians can be sure of are that Ilus's alumni never seem to make the news, its brochures seem utterly nonexistent, its documentation is nowhere to be found, and its existence itself is dubious. What's the fun in that?

That question was still unanswered on _ / _ / _ _ _ _ , at 8:12 AM, in the center of Hawrtfull, when a fourteen year old visitor exited the train, rubbing his neck and eyes, dragging two packed suitcases behind him and pulling out his earbuds to itch mid-step.

(This moment, for those in the audience unaware, is what's called the Call to Action. Whether or not that call should've gone to voicemail is something you can decide later.)