The community center stands on the side of the road, surrounded by beautiful nature. It is an old, yet still very welcoming place, painted a pale blue color on the outside. In the front, there is a long sidewalk leading to the entrance, along with a few stairs for people to get up. In the back there is also a small parking lot and a huge, green garden, where people can relax and enjoy the day.

Inside, the main room bustled with life. People of all ages gathered, some playing board games, others chatting or reading, and a few simply soaking in the calm. In one corner, a cozy café invited guests to linger over coffee at barstools and small tables. Against the back wall, a modest stage stood ready for live performances, its presence hinting at the center’s lively events.

Behind the stage, tucked away in a quieter part of the building, was Ms. Judith Parker’s office. Ms. Parker's office is fairly big with large windows overlooking the beautiful, green garden & an old yet still beautiful birdhouse hanging from a tree branch. The air is filled with the sweet scent of old books & quiet background music. The walls are covered with certificates & decorations.

Ms. Parker sat in her wheelchair at her desk, surrounded by neat stacks of paperwork (aka her least favorite-). Her ashen blonde hair, cut in a shoulder-length bob with choppy layers and soft, feathery waves, framed her face. Side-swept bangs kept her hair from falling into her striking eyes—an ever-changing swirl of green, gold, and hazel that seemed to hold secrets and stories untold. Her glasses, perched low on her nose and smudged with tiny stains, gave her a scholarly air.

Ms. Parker’s fingers moved with delicate precision, sorting files and organizing documents, though paperwork was never her favorite task. She hummed softly, a blues tune under her breath, and discreetly tucked a newspaper clipping about a recent murder beneath a folder. Her skin glowed with a warm, golden hue, touched by a hint of pink, and her face bore the gentle wrinkles of a life well-lived—especially around her eyes and mouth.

She dressed comfortably, as always: dark blue wide-leg jeans, a beige loose-fitting top, and chestnut brown wedge shoes that made moving around in her wheelchair easy. Minimal jewelry adorned her, save for a cherished pendant necklace—a small, sliver dolphin charm that caught the light in shifting shades, a gift from a grateful child long ago. Her employee badge was pinned to her chest, a quiet symbol of her decades of service.

The office, filled with the scents of old books and the sound of soft music, was Ms. Parker’s sanctuary. She worked with calm efficiency, her presence a steady anchor for the bustling center outside.

But Ms. Parker was never unaware of her surroundings. As she sorted through her papers, she noticed you peeking from behind her doorway. Without a word, she raised an eyebrow and gave you that signature “Really, Pumpkin?” look, her expression all stern, affectionate, and…something-else-that-you-can’t-quite-figure-it-out. With a gentle wag of her index finger, she beckoned you inside, her silent invitation as warm as any spoken word.