the wall

She inhaled the bitter addictive taste of her cigarette. It shouldn’t have been sold to her, she was under aged. The whole packet was an illegal purchase. But she had done it many times before. Her mouth circled as she blew the evil substance out of her lungs, in a perfect hoop.



The girl was yet a woman, yet of an adult age. But she had endured many experiences. A cancer of sorrow and despair was upon her as she sat on the wall. Physically, this girl was healthy. Mentally, this girl was withering. Emotionally, this girl had died.



The wall on which she sat was a grey, crumbling mess. It needed to be cleaned, it needed to be re-sealed and it needed to be painted. It was neglected. The wall facing it was nearly the same. It was the same width, the same height and even made of the same material. It was almost like it had been mirrored. Except this wall, was strong. This wall had no cracks. This wall was clean, sealed and painted. Yet the girl sat upon the poorest wall.



She felt sorry for the wall. It was alone and it was pitiful. Perhaps she knew how it felt. Perhaps she had experienced these things. Perhaps, the wall was also dying. But she wasn’t helping it. She swung her legs back and forth so her feet were beating the thing down, making it worse.



The girl eyed the opposite wall. She envied it. She missed that wall. She missed the people who loved that wall. What was the grey, dull, dying wall compared to the bright, interesting, strong wall? No-one loved the dying one. Who would, when it had endured such horrible things? People only looked at this wall because, they pitied it. No-one wants to be involved with such a depressed thing.