If walls could talk

If walls could talk, oh the stories I could tell. I am the old stone wall that has stood tall and proud surrounding the government building for over a century. I have seen countless politicians come and go, but none seem to be fond of the ones here now. They are part of a political conspiracy hiding behind my walls.

I first noticed that something was off a few months ago. There were whispers and hushed conversations in the corridors, and I could hear every word. The politicians would talk in vague terms about their plans, making sure not to leave any evidence. They thought they were clever, but I knew them.

The more I listened, the clearer the conspiracy became. They were planning to use the government's resources to cover up a scandal involving one of their own. It was a dirty plan that would harm innocent people and destroy their reputations. I wanted to speak up, to tell someone, but I was just a wall. I couldn't act, speak, only listen.

As weeks went by, the situation became more apparent. The politicians would meet secretly, away from prying eyes, and I would listen in on their plans as I always did. They became more confident, thinking that they were invincible. But then, I heard them mention a name that caught my attention.

It was the name of a journalist who was investigating their wrongdoing. They were discussing how to silence him, and I knew I had to act. I waited until the building emptied for the night and spoke to the shadows.

"Someone needs to know what's going on here," I whispered. "This isn't what democracy is supposed to be. We can't let them get away with this."

The shadows listened and spread my message throughout the city. The next day, the journalist was found safe and unharmed, and the conspiracy was exposed to the world. The politicians were arrested, and justice was served. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

After the news broke, people from all over the city came to see the old wall that had withstood the test of time. They marveled at my strength and resilience, running their hands over my rough stones. It was then that I realized the power of my silence.

Walls have been here for centuries, silently watching the comings and goings of people. We have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the birth of new technologies, and the never-ending cycle of life and death. We have heard countless secrets, but we have never spoken. We are the keepers of history, protectors of secrets, and guardians of truth.

If walls could talk, we would tell the stories of the people who have lived and died in front of us. We would tell their joys and sorrows, their hopes and fears, their struggles and triumphs. We would reveal the secrets that have been hidden behind our stones for centuries. We would remind the world that we are more than just buildings made of brick and mortar. We are an integral part of the human experience, witnessing history unfold.

But the truth is, walls cannot speak. We remain silent, patient, and steadfast in our duty. We bear witness to the events of the world, never taking sides or raising our voices. In a constantly changing world, we are a symbol of stability. We may not have a voice, but we are still an essential part of the human experience. And if we listen closely enough, we can hear the stories of the past whispered in our stones, reminding us of the world that once was.