From the Diary of Bedroom Walls
A short story from the perspective of the walls that see us at our best and worst.
We see this girl in all her most grim moments. We pay special attention to how she doesn’t sleep nearly as much as she should. And oh, the things she does in this bed — she desecrates this sacred resting place with so much work. Working on the folding bright in bed — staring at the bright oblong for hours — don’t we all know not to do that? How it associates with stress with this sacred place of rest? We’re just walls and even we realize this.
And oh, the faces she makes when she compulsively looks at her bright oblong as soon as she wakes… worrying over the bits of bad news and added obligations that flowed in overnight.
What kind of life is it to always let information ruin another moment? Another entire day? It’s no wonder human hearts are such broken things. They never let themselves rest. We may not get to go out and see the world, but it is good to be a wall sometimes.
We do not worry over the things the humans do. We do not change quickly. We understand that few lasting changes are made overnight. Sure, it’s possible — a human in the throws of grief could decide to quit cold turkey overnight. The father of that human could punch his head through we walls and leave a hole…
