Bravo

You stare at the wall directly opposite to you. The colour of the paint isn't noticed so much as the texture of the wall itself.

You notice each bump, each crater in the drywall. The wall isn't perfectly smooth but it is sturdy. Fulfilling its purpose as quietly as it has since it was first constructed.

Walls are little more than an idea; made with a combination of wood, steel, iron, glass, rock or a combination of materials. Walls are constructed, some with a purpose of keeping things in, some with a purpose of keeping things out.

You consider that for a moment. Behind that wall is opportunity. Chances for bliss or for tragedy.

You stare at that wall because you are unsure about something, your life perhaps. What frightens is the idea that you stare at that wall because you have nothing better to do.

There are usually four walls to a room, each obscuring a direction that your life would take if you were willing to step outside and walk. If you were not so ashamed of yourself for being yourself, you probably would.

You have been a prisoner locked up inside a prison of your own design, escaping only long enough to show up for work detail during the week. The weekends have long since become 60 hours of home arrest except when your wife sends you out to get the groceries.

But then you see the axe and the sledgehammer. The axe brings comfort. The sledgehammer brings freedom.

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To be continued...