Words and Images

The Old Brick Wall

As I walked down the cold forgotten streets a chill of emptiness ran down my spine. Pounding through my head are only questions of what happened to this once beautiful Victorian neighborhood. Was it time? Was it lack of care? Was it simply the weather?

I do a double take at the sight of an old brick wall, picturing the day when it was first built. With not a scratch or dent in the fresh white paint in which it was covered. It troubles my mind.  It troubles my mind because as I snap out of that dream, I see what is commonly known as reality.  Half destroyed with only dirty strips of paint peeling off slowly over time.

I keep on walking.  I walk and walk, pondering the mysteries of this town.  I break my train of thought as I hear music.  A person talking to a backbeat.  Rap, maybe?  I turn to see an old beat up car, with windows rolled down barely an inch. The car is practically shaking from the alarming volume the track is being played at. I almost like the feeling. The beat makes me feel happy and full inside. This is the only sound I hear, and it will be remembered every time I picture this place.  I am now back, back to where I started.  However, I have something more than I left with.  I have something to think about, and a new perspective on how life can change along with what one is surrounded by. — by Sarah


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