Walls Unit

If these wall could talk…if these walls could talk…if these walls could talk. For so many years I have watched, I have listened. I listened to the horrors in that echo within these walls. The units above and below that lead to death row, yes I have heard the screams, the cries for mom, the prayers to God, all to no avail. I see the atrocities, I hear the madness, I feel the sadness and pain. This is its own form of hell, but I live through the short lives of these men and women, and I believe I learn something from each person that walks down this hall.

The Walls Unit became active in 1849 with executions held regularly behind a justice system designed to be as bad as most the men and women comes through this prison. Although this prison started its legacy as a “whites” only prison, the welcoming committee seemed fairly eager to allow black prisoners who were to be whipped or executed because this seemed like the perfect avenue to further justice. Or injustice depending on your race or class.

Later, a new method of death was introduced to the execution chamber and the electric chair was brought in for a more humane experience to the path of death. If I had eyes, this is where I would be rolling them. Old Sparky was his nickname and he lived up to that moniker. Death by electrocution was never without challenges. Sparks would certainly fly on occasion. Old Sparky seemed to have his own agenda at times. It was always devilish work. Just ask those who had the opportunity to relax in that old wooden chair.

Well, I hope that provides some explanation of who I am and why I’m here and why you’re here. How is that a wall, a simple ass old wall can see and hear what goes on behind the dark regions of this damn forsaken prison. I don’t have eyes like you have. I don’t have ears like you. I don’t have a brain or the complex physiology required for thought, yet, in metal, plaster, wood, and paint, here I am. That I should be able to have the senses to understand what goes on in this hell hole is as big a mystery to me as it is to you. I have come to accept that what is, is what it is. Does that make any sort of sense? No? That’s okay because it really shouldn’t. There is no easy explanation why I live in these walls and see what I see and hear what I hear, but I do.

How did I come to be? I believe it is a type of punishment or a type of duty I am obligated to complete. For how long? Who made that determination? Was it merely random dumb luck? I do not know. I do have this feeling that the reason will be revealed to me at some point, but because that is merely a guess, I do not dwell on it much.

I do wonder if I was one of the first people to be executed in the chamber. The men and women who come to this prison call it the Walls Unit. Maybe because these corridor walls are the last thing they see before death comes and completes his job with far too much enthusiasm. Or maybe because prison can only offer you the walls that you see every day of your caged life. They do not know I exist, yet everyone who walks this path feels obligated to say bye to me. Sometimes they cry to me. Other times they curse me. Most are resigned to the fact they will not pass through these halls again alive.

Still, it is odd because there is a connection when the doomed pass through these halls. Like they know they are being observed. I would swear I have made eye contact many times with condemned. But, I do not have eyes. I would not know if they were looking into anything at all but their despair. That feeling that they know I am watching feels right though. They know. Eyeballs be damned. They know someone or something is watching.

I have seen much even though I occupy just a corridor in this prison. I hear more than I see. How any man or woman can keep their sanity in this place is beyond my comprehension. Yet, much is beyond my comprehension so I would not call that a great revelation.

The one-way trip to the chamber is somber entertainment. I know calling it entertainment must sound macabre, but after all the years that have gone by that is what I call it now. I have seen far more than the official records show die in the chamber. While I lost count long ago, I do know it was well into the thousands when I last kept track. Thousands of souls departing the Walls Unit. Thank you very much.

I guess if there were ever emotions within my being, they have long walked the plank. However, I do know right and I do know wrong. It is an odd conflict of knowledge and an inability to do anything but observe.

Maybe there is a legitimate reason for forceful death, or maybe not. It depends on a person’s perspective. But I do know justice is merely an illusion. I have contemplated the notion of justice way too long while being up close to it if not actually calling myself part of this shitty system. While I would love to debate this line of thinking, being that this conversation would only be one sided, I will let you believe what you chose.

But, back to my original train of thought. Forceful death is something I have come to loathe. Not because I believe that justice is just an illusion, which it is. But because it serves no purpose but to feed the darkness. The Evil Doers.

Yes, one of the Presidents used that term and I enjoyed it because it fit so aptly. Evil Doers are the sole reason people are sentenced to forceful death. The Evil Doers are the reason there are prisons. The Evil Doers are the reason there are enough people to continually fill places like the Walls Unit.

I do not always know how I know. I do not know who or what I was. But, there are things I absolutely know. Because where I dwell I can see further into a person’s soul than most if not all of ordinary people. Yes, people have free will, people are an accumulation of their choices. But the Evil Doers, they are behind every whisper that causes a man to hurt his wife. The Evil Doers are behind every final straw that pushes a mother to kill her child. The Evil Doers are carnage.

Again, for those who would argue differently, I urge you not to do so because you would only be talking to a wall. Literally.

However, you would be right that a person does not have to give in to the Evil Doers. The Evil Doers have whispered into your ears many times and yet here you are. You did not cheat on your final exam when the Evil Doers said take the easy road to get an A, you did not hurt your lover when the Evil Doers said to exact revenge for hurting you. So yes, you are right. It is sad that too many people cannot fight off the Evil Doers’ will.

I have seen too much death. Too many have passed through these halls. The unofficial one-way trips are always the most difficult to explain. The reasons seem to go well beyond using Evil Doers as a way to express the heinous acts that occur within these walls. Yes, the rationalization of evil by calling them Evil Doers is a bit dramatic. However, the one thing these walls can confirm is that evil is real. The women, the children, the innocent that have walked down this hall, they do affect me even if I am incapable of shedding tears. Right from wrong. That is a knowledge that does not elude me.

If walls could talk, would they only speak of the evil they see? How many walls would speak of love if they could talk? I wonder…So do the Evil Doers…