Wall That Remembered

This is my attempt in response to Friday Writings #218: The World Is Burning, But…

Image generated by Gemini

I was bored all day sitting inside. For someone as athletic as me, confinement is torture—especially after coming all the way to the hills for a vacation.

Ron and Ana seemed perfectly happy reading, hugging, or gazing at each other. I, however, had no romantic partner here and urgently needed to move. After hours of my finest whining, they finally gave in.

The air outside tasted wild.

I sprinted through the grass toward the rocky bottom of the hill. Normally I am very stable and balanced, but today loose gravel betrayed me. I slipped and skidded down the slope—twenty feet, maybe more.

Ron shouted and rushed down to help while Ana followed more carefully, already annoyed that I had complicated the trip.

As we searched for a way back up, we noticed an opening in the hillside. No door, no sign—just darkness breathing out cool air. After a brief debate, they agreed to the adventure, and I was more than happy to take the lead.

Once inside, the light faded quickly. Ron switched on the flashlight of his phone and aimed it down the tunnel.

The beam revealed faded paintings along the walls—hands pressed flat into stone, faces leaning close together, a small figure lifted toward a circle of others. It felt as if the walls had once been a journal for people who lived here long ago.

Deeper inside, the drawings changed. The colors grew muddy, the strokes hurried. A group pressed together behind something that looked like a barricade.

Ana’s voice broke the silence.
“Ron… these aren’t celebrations.”

He moved the light slowly along the wall.
“They’re hiding.”

Further inside, charcoal figures crouched low, their lines tangled like roots gripping the earth.

Ana brushed dust away from a small inscription while Ron read softly, his voice faltering:

“The world is burning, but we want to live.”

Ana read the line below it.
“They will find us one day and stop the oxygen flow.”

Ron pointed to the corner wall.
“Look at those numbers crossed out—a countdown.”

Next to it lay a shallow pit where the bones rested in an open grave.

Ronbir and Anasua stood there a long time, holding hands.

“Will there ever be peace in this part of our world?” Anasua whispered.

Sometimes I can tell when people are remembering something they never lived.

I wondered if the people who tried to stay alive here had a few dogs with them.

Like me.

The Woman by the Window

 

Photo Courtesy

Sometimes we wake up with a strange unease — a hollow feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen.
Some say the body senses trouble before the mind does.
Daniel’s left eye had been twitching since morning.
He wasn’t a superstitious man, but when life is in turmoil, even reason looks for omens.

On another day, he would’ve shrugged it off — determined to make a bad morning better as the day went on.
But not today.

All night, Daniel had simmered from a bitter argument with his ex-wife — the kind that replays long after the words end.
“There’s so much in common between evil and Eve,” he muttered when she’d shown up that morning — with her new partner.

His thoughts were sharp, restless. To escape them, he drove without direction, trying to reassure himself that “the world isn’t ending — there must still be kind, rational people out there.”

After an hour of aimless driving, he spotted a small café glowing with warm morning light. For a moment, he thought a cup of coffee might calm the storm inside him.

Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and quiet — two things Daniel felt he no longer understood.
He told himself, “This will be a happy day. No matter what.”

He sat near the counter, ordered coffee, and noticed the room — a mix of college students on laptops, friends chatting softly before work.
All men, he realized.
Maybe that’s why it felt so peaceful.

And then, he saw her.
A woman sat by the window, reading a book, utterly at peace.
There was something infuriating about her calmness — as if life itself had placed her there to mock him, to remind him of all the grace he’d lost.

Before he could stop himself, he said aloud, his voice cutting through the café:
“Today,” he declared loudly, “is the first day of the rest of my life! Coffee and muffins for everyone — except that woman!”

The waiter blinked, unsure if he’d heard right.
But Daniel’s face left no room for questions.

Moments later, the café hummed with quiet delight. Trays of muffins appeared on tables — for everyone except her.

The woman looked up from her book. Their eyes met. And then, to his surprise — she smiled.
“Thank you,” she said gently.

Daniel felt irritation rise. He was expecting her to react the way his wife would have.
“Fine! Add pastries for everyone — except her!”

Again, the woman smiled. Again, she said, “Thank you.”

Confusion replaced anger. Maybe all women aren’t the same, he thought to himself.
He got up and approached the window, half-demanding, half-pleading,
“What’s wrong with you, lady? I keep excluding you, and you keep thanking me!”

The waiter, who had stepped closer anticipating trouble, leaned in and said softly, with a knowing smile,
“She’s not upset, sir. She owns this café.”

Daniel froze.
For a second, the air itself seemed to laugh. Then, a chuckle escaped him — the first in weeks.

“I do own the café,” she said softly. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve learned not to lose my inner peace just because someone else has lost theirs. My peace is my own.”

Sometimes life holds up a mirror in the strangest ways.
We strike out at others to soothe our own pain — and life gently shows us how foolish that is.

He looked at her once more and, for the first time, saw that she looked nothing like his ex-wife.
She was simply a woman by the window — and he, perhaps, was finally ready to heal.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my story. I hope it left you with a moment of reflection — do visit again for more such tales of life and perspective.

---

🌿 Read Reflect Rejoice