Stained Wall

My face sinks into the concrete wall its pressed against, I can see the people who stood before me... their screams crawl into my ear cavity... their tears roll down my cheeks like the blood that spilt from their wounds.

The sound echoes across the jagged streets of my mind and the land of the uncaring souls.

"Come with us!" they cry; pulling, uncontrolled pulling, I fight for that freedom I had only a few moments ago, losing my grasp on the breath I seek falling fast all is lost my lungs fight for one more breath but I keep falling falling falling...

My eyes hurt as I open them to the harsh sight of the moon light spilt across the concrete wall, I see my face sinking into the wall, fighting the uncontrollable, I see their hands pulling me deeper into the wall... I see his black cloth fall over my body and the many others who stood before me. Tears run down my face, I can feel the spiral of death... my last breath.

I awake to see them dragged up to the wall, I look around to see myself on the other side of the street, I stand lifeless, with the Demons of Propaganda and Fears eating at my soul, I see them pulling my clothes apart and leaving me standing bare, cold - afraid. I sense the self hatred built inside of me for doing nothing... PULL. CRIES. PAIN. DEATH... I watch as they sink deeper into the wall, my tears blur my vision.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and find myself in the apartment across the street from the wall, I see myself in uniform standing with the Devil below, I seem scared and looking around when I stop and just stare, I see that the uniformed me is again staring at myself bare on the opposite side of the street, I look back at myself and now see His hand embedded into my chest, His cold hand wrapped around my heart as I lift my rifle - I pull the trigger for execution...

The sound of the rifle ping pongs down the cobbled streets; off the walls and into the distance - Blood Stained Wall, I see myself fall to my knees as He lets go of my heart - He looks up at me in the apartment, dead in the eyes and smiles.

PULL. BREATHE. FIGHT. PAIN.

They want me - bullets from the firing squad make their homes in my lungs, all goes numb as I gurgle for one last breath - Blood Stained Wall. DEATH.



Jason Paul Friedman