Time will never stop

If Walls could talk...

But how I wish I could not, how I wish I was mute, just like my brothers and sisters.

How to explain what I have seen, how to make anyone understand? They think you are inanimate, they think you are an object, something to lean on, something to pound on, vomit on, urinate on, crash their cars in... beat another's head until blood and brains gush out, but how they would laugh if they knew, only knew!

You shudder and wail, you cannot take this destruction...

My sole purpose was to stand, steadfast, protect and serve, built to last, built to withstand and make sure those within me would live their lives, free of the harshness of the climate and the fear of being exposed to death.

Not a full week after I had been built, finished, polished off... barely a young bud, incapable of forming real thoughts, still amazed by every sight I could feel, wondering why I was blessed with such senses, when every other wall like me felt only silent and inert, I witnessed it for the first time.

Rocks feeling horror, cement cringing in distress, but how they would all laugh and sneer. I am immovable, I should never fear, I should face all with the same courage.

Do or die.

I am not supposed to crumble, I cannot be weak... so many others were torn down for their weaknesses, but were they same as me? Were the cracks that spread, gossamer-like, on their skins, made by the sheer disgust and fear, of what they were witnessing?

My first crack, barely a week old, so new, and yet so fragile.

The people that had built me, taking my sand and stones and lime and paint to make me into their creature, to mold me into their protector, walked past me every day, speaking in their fast-paced noise that I only much later identified as their language. These people, with suits and hats and always somewhere to go, walking back and forth in front of me, had always made me feel that I should stand tall and strong and make them proud, show them how they had done a good job, show them I was ready to serve them.

And then one of them went past me vertically, and splattered on the sidewalk, his frail hand crashing on me. Convulsing erratically, the fingers twitching, as I tasted blood for the first time. I didn't want to, but it was my composition, how I had been made, to absorb and then shed out.

The taste was bitter, and it was as though I could know everything that had gone through his mind. Knowledge passed on through blood, but knowledge only I could hear, experience...

The loss of money, the loss of future, the knowledge that his family would starve because he had been a fool, because he had trusted markets and they had crashed at precisely the wrong moment.

The despair was overwhelming, I felt like I swayed and rocked in my foundations, which had seemed unbreakable.

But that despair was stronger than anything I had been made out of and I felt the crack popping into my structure, reducing my overall strength.

Little did I know, as I stood there powerless, and in dismay, that this crack was just the first of so many.

How to explain such behavior? I was astounded. I had been made by strong hands to provide protection, how could a race that had taken the time to build me to stand, could then turn around and impose such horror on themselves?

Why make me to protect, if all they did was tear each other apart?

In the next years, all I witnessed was more of this misery, this despair, this hatred, this scorn.

I watched helpless as they starved, they cursed, they cried, they fought.

How I wish I couldn't see, how I wish I would be blank and devoid of feelings and sense, how I wished I would be a thing, inanimate and completely oblivious to the world and my creators' plight.

They scraped my sides and painted me different colors, from yellowish to reddish, whatever was their mood of the moment.

Some even gave me the gift of tears, collapsing next to me, their legs incapable of holding them up, crying as the life they thought they had been promised unraveled in front of them.

They thought I didn't know, they thought I didn't care, they had no idea how I wished to make it all well again, make them happy, hear their excited chitterings, which indicated happiness.

But I was powerless.

It seemed I had been made so strong, but I could not lift a single particle to comfort, I could not give any warmth, I was just there... sometimes a meager protection against wind and snow, but never more than a spot to lean and move on.

Of course there was happiness again, but all I saw was the contrast, the dark nights of prowling and yells of fear, the sunny days of bustle and noise.

Somehow as time went by, all I felt was the hypocrisy of it all.

How could they pretend to be happy, when in truth their world held so much darkness?

How many times had I tasted blood, and grown more crumbly for it?

Now it wasn't just tiny cracks in the foundation, now it was true breaches that needed patching over.

They didn't seem surprised or disappointed that I needed fixing, truly they seemed not to care. Not care what had caused me to lose my strength, not care what had demolished my confidence, expressing itself in my body and soul. I was nothing for them; if they did not care about themselves, frail flesh and blood, how could they show concern for me?

Spraypainted with the boredom of the new generation, but always the cycle repeated. Time never stopped moving forward, but with each new cycle I grew weaker, frailer, the fissures deeper, and now no one to repair them, no one to care enough even to do that.

I had seen others fall, I had heard their cries, dust billowing in the air, had they been thinking, like me? Had they sighed in relief, finally reduced to rubble?

I wondered what it would feel like, every new crack hurt, every single one of them was a mar to my integrity, but would I cease to exist, if I came down? Would I billow up and vanish in the ether?

But wouldn't that be a relief?

It was the warm time when I felt it sprout.

Such a tiny life, nestled in the crumbling concrete that had not been tended in years, defying the painted slogans of death some individuals spent their nights spraying on me, as a glum message to others, it grew, the roots tentatively gaining nutrients from the dust that had accumulated over the years.

I felt its conscience growing as it set out tendrils, deployed fragile leaves to gather sunlight and grow.

With each passing day I saw it become stronger, from shrinked, shy creature to somethign that defied imagination. The roots digging deeper, taking all the place in the interstices created by time, the plant becoming bold and proud as it prepared for the next step of its journey on this wretched Earth. Produce a flower and seeds, so that its kind may continue and thrive.

I had never felt so protective in my existence. If I had thought I had a mission before, now it was crystal clear. I was meant to provide shelter and growth room for this inoffensive, innocent creature.

I was meant to keep it from too much heat and rain, meant to see it reach its peek, and if I could, help its offspring grow the next year, ensure the species survival.

It felt so special to finally prove my worth and give asylum to this other species. Never mind those who had built me, they cared nothing for the beauty of simplicity, all they cared about was the pain they could inflict themselves and others.

I waited in breathless ( yes I know I don't breathe) anticipation when my flower prepared to open.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. White with purplish shadings, innocence and hope and strength combined in a few petals, how could something so amazing even exist?

I was gray and and colorless, soulless, it seemed, while this plant held promises of life, of happiness, it was the harbinger of the next generation... I was so blessed to be able to see this happening in front of me, to be a part of its life cycle.

The second day, after curling up for the night, the petals deployed again, tiny droplets of dew reflecting the sunlight like shiny gold pebbles. Soon the seeding process would begin, and I was mourning the appearance of the flower already, but what would come next would be even more magical.

From the next lot, which had been left to weeds, I had seen the cycle of flowers, but this one was unlike anything I had ever felt/seen.

This one was special. And it was mine.

With the flower growing, I had almost lost all interest in the humans, in their pointless comings and goings, but that day, a man and a woman stopped their hurried walking, the man taking support on me while talking in his hurried language.

I didn't care about it anymore, but the woman' s dress was brushing against my protegee, and so I was annoyed, and hoped they would leave and go bustle elsewhere as they usually did.

" But Marian, you know how much I care about you, don' t believe everything they say to you! " the man argued.

" How am I supposed to trust anything you say? I don't know what to think anymore, " she answered, sounding flustered.

" Trust in your heart, you know what you mean to me, "

" That' s the problem, what do I know? Do I mean anything to you, do I ? "

He was losing the argument, and she was moving away, and I was starting to be content again, when the man moved so swiftly.

Had I thought I could protect anything, cherish anything, be of use to anything?

In a casual motion, the man had torn and cut the flower from me, going down on one knee to get the woman's attention.

" You are as unique as this flower, as beautiful, you grow inside my heart, like it grew on this lifeless wall, you gave my life purpose, do you think I could ever do anything to hurt you? You gave my life true purpose, Marian, I am nothing without you. "

The words struck deep, the woman took the flower and smiled through tears as he continued talking.

But I was torn, unhinged. All my strength was completely useless, I had failed to protect my only friend, my only purpose in life.

He had torn it away from me, and what would they do now? Throw it away, let it fade somewhere, destroy a pure life for their own dark purposes.

The soul had been ripped out of me, how I wish I would have been wobbly

How I wish I could have crumbled right there and then, buried them in the rubble they had created. The void inside shown for all the world to see. My flower avenged for the cruel death imposed upon it.

But my time wasn't done yet. I stood there, wishing I was dead, thrown away like my poor innocent flower.

How many seasons passed? I grew cold and blind it seemed, not wanting to see the light anymore. The light was useless, it only brought pain.

Perhaps soon I would finally go into oblivion, not be bothered by a useless conscience. What a relief that would be.

" Violet! Be careful!" a woman's voice, somehow familiar. Enough to bring me out of the depths, in time to see the toddler wobbling towards me, her little legs barely capable of supporting her.

She made it to me and placed a chubby knuckle on my cracked, ugly facade. What did it want with me? Why was it looking at me with such innocent eyes?

She gave me a kiss and giggled before the woman caught up and picked her up. " Be careful, that wall could be dangerous, it' s not safe, don' t run away like that, "

The woman from so long ago... and on her dress lapel, the dried flower, preserved for all times, her favorite jewel and piece, for it represented the love of her husband and what it had brought to them.

It seemed my flower was staring at me from the gold pin, telling me words of wisdom I never had heard before.

We are put on this Earth for a reason, but we can't always see that reason.

Doesn't mean we shouldn't do our best, it means what is to come will come.

I watched them walk away and it seemed my soul was warmed by the sight.

If one had looked at me in that moment, they might have wondered what a brand-new looking wall was doing in such a bad neighborhood.