Unshakable

Written for the Vocal challenge “ If walls could talk.” The prompt was to write about a wall, and if it could talk, what would it say?

***********Trigger Warning***********

If walls could talk, behind closed doors, or to be a fly on the wall- these expressions would all mean “oh to have witnessed such a thing.”

And it was just that. Such things.

Many things. Sometimes I wish I could do more than just talk. I wish I could open a door or stop the pain. But even though I could not, she would talk to me, often. Sometimes she’d write letters on the hem of my baseboards, “butterflies were caterpillars once too”.

She made me pretty with the butterflies she chose to doodle. She brought the light to the darkness that held her inside my realm. My energy was shifted by her control. The things that would happen between 12 am to 2, created a strong force. But by morning she’d take it back, she had survived. She made my ugly curtains and musky aromas a church. It wasn’t even the same room because of her choice to change it.

Singing aloud, after a night of violence and perversion, Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow, you’re only a day away!

Clearly she resonated with orphan Annie, or she looked forward to tomorrow as if it would be the day of her rescue from captivity.

She was an interesting little thing. If anyone could survive a night within my arms, it was definitely her. I wish I knew her name. But she never did tell me. So, I just went with Annie.

But I knew her grandmothers name, Edena. She would talk to God every night, asking to say hello to her.

Turning my walls from sorrow to Sunday.

A lesson or two was taught here. Annie was quite the teacher. I wish the little girl before her was more like Annie.

But when sundown would come, she’d prepare her spirit to dim out the light. Trauma kill-switch kicked in and it was as if she felt nothing.

How could an 11 year old carry so much discernment of the gray, beyond her years?

I believe other walls have spoken before mine, and she taught herself to become unshakeable. I am confident by her countenance that she’s met many walls, in many places. Even the ones that traveled, or the ones with barbwire. She learned to make friends with them instead of allowing them to suffocate and torture her with fear. I’m hopeful that though the walls she met on her journey weren’t always good, she remained pure within them. She’s made me proud to be the ones to hold her finally. If anyone ever saw what I have, I hope it’s the grace that I feel.

In the midst of terror the last thing you want to be is a standing still. Unmovable.

Sometimes she would cry knowing she was unheard.

Crying is the most somber call for help and no one will ever know it.

But the freedom she had was inside this room, because it was inside of her. The walls of her soul.

It wasn’t until the night they finally arrived. The ‘tomorrow’ that was achieved, when the torture finally came to an end.

As for me, I never did feel such energy again.

When they returned, after a couple of months, I was torched to the ground and burned to dust.

As I stood still in flames, I began to whither to the ground. Taking all of my wood chards with me. The smoke was thick, killing all that went on in the room. Every bad memory going down with it.

In front of me stood a camera crew beyond the caution tape.

When I realized my walls were only used for secret, I knew it was time to let them drop.

Author notes:

Thank you for reading. This story was dedicated to victims affected by, Human/Sex/Child trafficking.