Walls

She walks down the road, much like any other person. Nothing about her attracts attention. All around her people pass each other by, rarely making eye contact, talking only on mobile phones. Each living their own life, isolated from the others, alone in their iPod worlds.

She stretches out a hand, fingers idly brushing against the concrete wall. A reminder – she does exist – there is life inside those buildings. She can feel it, but does it feel her? No one speaks to her, no one looks directly at her.

It is easy to feel invisible when no one sees you.

Often she’ll watch a group pass, they chat to each other, laughing. Sometimes arguing, even fighting. Those passer-bys she enjoys watching. At least they have reason not to see her. The others, the businesswomen in their short skirts, the men in suits, the busy parents, everyone rushing here there and everywhere, they have no such excuse.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that all this isn’t the way it was meant to be. Something is telling her this is wrong.

She pauses on the bridge, leans out, staring into the murky, sluggish water below. For an instant the sun comes out, dances across the surface, and she smiles. All too soon however that ray of light is gone.

The tall buildings crowd out the sky, the world returns to grey. She walks on.

Once again running her hand along the building walls. Assure herself of reality. It is good to feel something, anything solid, and through the walls she can feel the inhabitants. She can think about their lives, their loves, their hates.

Here a couple first met, or a baby spoke his first words. Another building, another life. Her fingers connect with the stone, she connects with those lives, at least for a moment in time.

But those happy, joyful feelings are fleeting. More and more she encounters the negative. An argument, a slap, a knifing.

Startled by the violence, she stops dead on the street. Stares for a moment at her hand, then slowly replaces it on the wall. Not barely touching, but flat against the brick. Fingers splayed outwards. She leans against the wall.

Now the passerbys see her. The strange woman, causing them to veer around her. They stare at her, then quickly look away lest she meet their eyes. In case she might go further and speak to them.

She doesn’t. She doesn’t even notice them. Their looks are ignored, she is only aware of the wall, of the life talking to her through that wall. She moves closer, leans her forehead against the building, her hair falls forward, hiding her face. This is what she has wanted all along. Wanted, but not known about.

And then, then she spins on her heel. Stares once more at the people all around her. Once she would have welcomed those enquiring glances, now they barely register. All she knows is that there are suddenly too many people. Too many, all around her. Too many echoes of violence and pain flood through the footpath below.

She stands still, staring at the sky. Has it finally come to this? she wonders. All her life, all these long years she waited for someone to pay attention to her, to form some connection. That something in the back of her mind surges, and with a wave of sadness she suddenly knows the truth.

Her attention returns to the people, the faceless crowds, hurrying by, each living their own lives. Not for much longer. Not now she knows who… what she is. She sighs softly, the sadness leaving with that exhaled breath. Instead she is resolute. A finger lifts, sketches a line on the nearest wall. Connection made, she takes one deep breath, resolute she repeats to herself, resolute.

Removing her finger from the surface of the wall she walks on. Behind her the wall begins to crumble. She doesn’t look back.

Looking just like everyone else she walks down the street. No one notices her, no one pays any attention to her. She walks on. The Destroyer.

I’m not really all that happy with this. It turned out different than I expected.