If Walls Could Talk

If walls could talk, I'd have so much to mention. For over a century, I have stood witness to endless secrets and techniques, and events that have taken area properly in front of me. I'm the old brick wall of an abandoned mansion, as soon as the house of a wealthy circle of relatives in the 19th century.

I keep in mind the times when the mansion became full of existence and laughter, the children walking around and gambling in the yard, and a round of relatives sitting next to each other on the porch playing the cool breeze. However as the years went by, the fortunes of lots of families dwindled, and they were compelled to promote the mansion to a brand new owner for it. The new mansion owner did not have the same passion for the house as the past ones did. He didn't look after me or the house like he need to have, so over the years, I started to disintegrate.

At some point, a group of young adults got here to the mansion to discover. They came in through the damaged window and started out to hunt. I heard their joking and laughter, and I could not help but experience an experience of nostalgia for the days when the kids of the house did the same. But then something changed that I'm able to by no means overlook.

One of the teens observed an old container hidden within the nook of a room. Upon opening it, the others gathered close to see what was within. There were vintage letters, a magazine, and images. The teens started studying the journal aloud, I listened, shocked by what I heard.

The magazine belonged to the daughter of the own family who used to live in the mansion. In it, writing about her difficulties with depression, and how she was constantly belittled and overlooked by her own family. She attempted to write about her search for assistance, but no one listened to her. Hearing it became painfully sad, and I needed that I ought to have achieved something to assist her.

Because the teens persevered to read the journal, they got here across an entry that defined a hidden room in the mansion. The simplest way to enter the chamber was through a hidden entrance that changed into disguised as a bookcase. The teenagers looked around the home and eventually determined the room. Inner, they determined a treasure trove of old documents, photos, and other artifacts.

It turned in this room that they found the evidence that the daughter of their own family have been killed. Letters and other documents were present that the circle of relatives had been worried about her death, and had covered it in order to protect their popularity. The teens have been surprised, and I had a heavy feeling of despair that I couldn't do something to prevent it.

The teens sooner or later left the mansion, and it was over again silent. Yet I'm still standing here, staring at the historic home, looking forward to someone to come and study the secrets and methods I possess. All I am is a wall, but if there are divisions that should talk, I would inform the stories of all the ones who've come and gone in this old mansion.

Years have passed since the teens found the truth approximately the death of the daughter, however, the mansion is still unoccupied, and I am left to maintain to study quietly. Being alone in a place that changes when held a lot of life, however, I take consolation in understanding that at the least the fact is out.

No matter being only a wall, I feel a feeling of obligation to protect the secrets and techniques of individuals who once called this locale domestic. I've kept an eye on the mansion using harsh winters and scorching summers, braving storms and forgetting about it, but I remain unmoving and unwavering.

Perhaps in the future, a person will come to the mansion and repair it to its exalted past. I can, however, keep working till the secrets and techniques of this dated brick wall, and keep in mind the circumstances that resulted in the front of me.