N/A: I do NOT own Spoon River Anthology only Talia who I created as a spector of the events that unfold within this text. I love this book and I am going to do a series of 200 one-shots, one for each person within the story, starting with Hod Putt, ending with Webster Ford. I will probably do an epilouge. This may take me a while, and while I know no one out there is going to read this, who cares?! I'm doing this for me. If anyone wants to come along for the ride. Feel free. Hope you enjoy. Slight AU and OOC.

Hod Putt

Here I lie close to the grave

Of Old Bill Piersol,

Who grew rich trading with the Indians, and who

Afterwards took the bankrupt law

And emerged from it richer than ever.

Myself grown tired of toil and poverty

And beholding how Old Bill and others grew in wealth,

Robbed a traveler one night near Proctor's Grove,

Killing him unwittingly while doing so,

For which I was tried and hanged.

That was my way of going into bankruptcy.

Now we who took the bankrupt law in our respective ways

Sleep peacefully side by side.

-Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters.

Hod Putt lay in his grave. The town was ablaze with the talk of Hod Putt's hanging, which had happened the week before. Talia was Hod's niece, who was staying with him during this time. Here to visit with her only uncle, and her only family left. Talia was expecting a baby. Out of wedlock too. The Putts were a notorious family. They had never done anything inherently wrong, but they were one of the only families left who didn't cultivate their image for the public eye, this was a problem for the town. For how can they control the uncontrollable? Talia hadn't come out of her home in almost 8 days. Not since she became alone in the world. Doc Hill's wife sent him to check on her, but she didn't let him in. She wanted to be alone, and if a Putt wanted to be alone...they were left alone. No need to take any chances.

Talia lay in bed, her hands on her stomach, trying to get warm. She felt ill, like any moment the obfuscous light could devour her whole. Tired beyond belief, Talia still couldn't sleep. Her dreams were haunted by the sound of her uncle's neck being snapped, by the sight of him dangling feet off the ground while people cheered. Now Talia was alone, alone in the world, and people cheered for her sadness. She recounted the conversation that she and Hod had had the night he was taken in by the constable.

"Little Tilly," he said, cupping her face. "You are destined for great things, I know, and don't you let anybody tell you any different," he had mused. "I won't be around much longer, but Tilly! I need you to promise that you will stay here. Take care of things for me, and don't you ever forget that you are a Putt, from the moment you were conceived, till the moment of your death." He had kissed her forehead and whispered one last thing in her ear before the constable broke through the door.

Tilly ventured outside for the first time in days. She walked to the Hill, and kneeled before her uncle's stone. She placed a single flower that she had picked at the bottom of it, underneath his name. Carved by old hands, weary with age and arthritis. Talia let a single tear fall onto the dirt before sighing and walking away.