The wall looked the same today.
He wished someone would turn him around. You would too if you had to stare at a goddamn wall all your life. Those cables, those pipes, the flaking paint. But most of all, most of all, the damned bit of open sky at the corner that beckoned so sweetly. He wished someone would kick him--turn his vision upside down. Crush him to tiny bits---turn his boring old rectangular perspective into compound vision. It wouldn’t hurt him, he couldn’t feel anything anyway. Coarse-grained, igneous, and yet no one had found him worthy of shattering. Perfect building material. Give it a go, someone.....anyone?
Recycle, renewal, and yet he had sat here for a million goddamn years cursing time. Time passed by the same way that it did for everyone else. He knew every inch of the wall. It had been here for thirty years. What would you do, if you couldn’t move, couldn’t shout? He had the body of a rock but the soul of a bird. Who said rocks and things didn’t have soul? Look at me, I’m here. I’m alive. No, not really. But you wouldn’t find a more suicidal rock on the island.
At least I have a friend.
You know who it is.