The Last Stand

If walls could talk, I'd tell you that's the most exhausted phrase you've played on like a broken record. I'd also tell you to stop being hopeless romantics to your dimension and listen. Listen the hardest you ever have. Of course we talk. You're just relying on the wrong receptors. It's a dying shame the furthest you've gone in listening to us has been through your eyeballs. Oh... that may have been said in poor taste. We'll just say it's a shame and leave the assumption of death out. I'm trying to remain hopeful here. Most everything around here communicates. In fact if you'd heard the galling laughter that came from the trees when you discovered their mycorrhizal networks, it'd have buried you six feet under in embarrassment. The bastards wouldn't shut up about that for three years. Three years! By the way, they're not too keen on you all.

I remember some of you were enamored by our significance and our purposes. Strength, might, beauty. Some of you had studied our birthdays which we do have actually, thanks to you. Sometimes we were given grand celebrations but most of our birthdays went by unnoticed. We never took it too personally. Ava down the street recently had her 100th year come up. Too bad you're gone. You probably had something very special planned for her. I beg your pardon, you probably knew her better as the Pantages Theater. Oh yes, we have our own names too. Try to keep up. My 100th is coming up soon I think. It's difficult to keep record of the days. You all left so suddenly. No more newspapers or looking over your shoulders at those little devices to keep me up to date anymore. Watching the paved street slowly turn green from the unrelenting force of weeds isn't the best method of tracking time. However, if memory serves me right we're on day 97 since you left. Wow, 97 days without repetitive grinding of passing cars, cyclists and pedestrian foot traffic is enough time for the little buggers to grow back. They're a touch bitter about being labeled an eyesore and generally have nothing nice to say to anything within listening distance. I've tuned them out at this point. All they blab on about is sweet, sweet vengeance. We all operate within our own frequencies, if that makes sense. We can either join the radio wave of others or stay on our own station. It's gotten much quieter without you all running around here though. Do you think things would be different if you had been able to hear us? I'd like to imagine so.

Day 113. I see you've returned finally. At least some of you. Where are the rest? I have a slew of bird droppings staining my face that I'd really appreciate having cleaned off. Gerald, my neighbor to the right, has quite the feculent smell wafting from his sliding doors that were left stuck open. Can't you hear him calling out to you? Of course not, still with the eyeballs. He fed you once. Provided overpriced nurishment that seemed to be afforded by the higher end. We both enjoyed watching the little bickering fits you'd have out in the parking lot. Getting into literal fist fights to claim the space between those thin white lines that docked your cars. I can't help but think of the day Gerald was completely irate after being tagged by some of your more 'artistic' youths. Our block had a good laugh over that one. We nick named him Tramp Stamp for a week. It was mostly easy going around here. That's not to say this neighborhood didn't have it's edgier, darker moments. Like the break ins to your finer vehicles and occasional drunken, indecent exposures. Terry seemed to be the favorite for the indiscriminate bathroom habits of your inebriated. His insults got very creative after some time. It's not his fault that his wall shared the alley to the local dive bar. It was secluded and dark, which seemed to breed the perfect conditions for your unhygienic mishaps. The instance that first shook me however, was the murder of that 19 year old boy in the aforementioned parking lot. May 23rd, 1:27am, 75 degrees Fahrenheit, east corner of the property just out of sight from the faulty streetlight. His killer was five foot seven and had a large chest tattoo that read 18th St. Poorly shaded roses adorned each side of the font. He was bald and very muscular with a piercing on his left eyebrow. The young man on the receiving end of his switchblade called him Omar, and then Puta. Omar Puta escaped on foot over the neighboring fence to Chelsea's back yard. She witnessed him driving away in a mist blue 1969 Chevy El Camino. Plate reading CHICNO. He made several appearances through the parking lot after that day. No matter our cries of foul and alarm, he came and went as he pleased. None of you knowing what he did. Seeing him only as a sore thumb that randomly came through the neighborhood to shop for fancy food. Then there was the assault to one of Gerald's employed inhabitants. I will only share the pleasant memories of Sarah and not what happened that night. She deserves to be remembered as her adorable and loveable self. Pulling up on her 10-speed, helmet donned in ridiculous stickers. Socks with silly quotes or drastic patterns. We had been there to listen to her first break up by phone. She was devastated, so heart broken. Then Randy came around. Lifting her spirits with the most awkward attempt at flirting I had ever seen. And I've seen plenty. There was the day Sarah was gurneyed out to an ambulance because she was in fact, not certified to operate a fork lift. What a sweet and quirky little thing she was. Enough reminiscing though, I'm getting choked up. Let's bring the focus back to you. Why are you just now coming back? I can't help but notice you all seem tired and filthy as hell. You're walking much too cautiously. Are you afraid? I can only see your stretched out shadows now as you continue on your way. Not even looking in our direction. Oh gawd, Gerald would you just hush it? He's not handling your abandonment well. That's okay. None of us really are.

Day 132: I wish you would come back and walk through my front door again. I loved the sound my little door chime made. Dingaling! I heard your little posse who came through recently were spotted traveling up North Vista Street towards Runyon Canyon. Seemed to be in a hurry too. I don't get it. Don't you need things that are within us? You used to need us. I know I need you. There's no electricity to keep my ventilation running. Gerald's case is pretty clear cut on his issue with the lack of municipal services. I can feel the smog sodden humidity seeping into my drywalled sides though. This isn't the usual quality of Los Angeles air either... tastes more... toxic. Like when you used to go real heavy on the lead in your house paint. What you lacquered onto us back then was the equivalent of your smoking a pack a day. There's garbled bits and pieces coming through the channels sometimes. It's odd that our means of transmission seems to have been interrupted the same day of your rushed departure. Obviously something was wrong when a majority of your signals fell off our radar. It felt like a power outage, a really big power outage.

Day 165: You've come back again! This time there's definitely more of you. You seem angry what with the bulldozing of cars and tactile methods of your approach. What is on your faces? Oh wait, I've seen those before. It was during my cockroach phase. What a horrid memory. Most of us newer buildings weren't fashioned with bug repelling sealants. We were victims of hack job hires. It was an awkward time for me and didn't go over too well with my neighbors. The man wore a similar face thingy when he cleared me of the vermin. Which I'll have you know my wall has been cleared of for years. Is that why you came back looking like you do? Are their roaches afoot? Alright, hear my plea. Grant me a quick spritz and spare me the plague that is roaches. I still have nightmares of the evil abominations. My insulation hasn't been the same since. Wicked. Vile. I see you're heading into Percy. The tacky banner strung across his front wall, boasting discounted sporting goods, lost a tie on one side and has been lightly batting at Percy's dome ever since. I can hear him begging you to remove the PVC monstrosity. The never ceasing flapping and bopping is driving him absolutely batty. His cries fall deaf to your senses though. You all seem on edge. I find myself wondering yet again where the rest of you are. I had gotten used to seeing you in the hundreds and thousands. This feels a bit awkward honestly. I don't want to entertain this thought but, how many of you are leftover? I can't get a read on what used to be millions of your little transmissions. Actually, I can't get a read on anything past a 20 mile radius from here. Would you like to come inside? Grace me with the jingle of my little entryway bell? I have some priceless paperbacks and author signed best sellers. Oh sure, check on Gerald first. Maybe while you're in there you can take care of that horrid stench. I'd really like my vents turned back on. Whatever is leaching into my walls is becoming quite uncomfortable. Will you come back tomorrow?

Day 256: I made you a poem. I've had a lot of time to sit here with myself, left to my own devices. Ahem -

The street is green

Gerald smells bad

You haven't returned

Now I am sad

It's no masterpiece by any means but it speaks to me. I AM my only audience after all. I think maybe a ballad will be next. Or perhaps a form of homage to my houseless friend Will. He kept my right corner occupied and decorated for a long while. It was through him I gained some insight to your social ranking system. Apparently he was at the bottom of it. Which is astounding considering how much he knew. Area 51 and Big Brother; who doesn't sound too agreeable. Deep state, 9/11, the New World Order, chemtrails, something about black helicopters. Then there was someone named Epstein and another who goes by Poo Ten. I learned about government controlled vaccinations and RFID chips. Fascinating stuff. I can't believe you all carried on with your lives so nonchalantly knowing all of this was out there! How come none of you listened to him? Maybe that's what made me feel connected to Will. I identified with him because none of you listened to me either. When he started talking about a new clear war, your authority faction took him away. It was sadly in the middle of my eavesdropping of Russia and Ukraine and someone named Donald? Surely he wasn't pertaining to that emotionally unstable white duck. Or was he? Will never did come back. Is this an impulsion amongst you? Just up and going? Very rude if you ask me. Which you wouldn't, considering your obliviousness to the range of amplitude that surrounds you. Plain rude.

Day 312. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the street. My poor neighbor from across the way, Milly. You leftovers have become so ruthless. You destroyed her over something I'm assuming held great value within her green tiled loveliness. I could only sit there stunned and helpless to her desperate pleas for the halt of your sledgehammers. It wasn't even that you were attempting to perform a cosmetic procedure either. No. We had grown quite accustomed to the fanciful whims you bestowed upon us to better fit your lives. Renovations, modernization, necessary seismic upgrades. In fact a majority of us typically relished in our little surgeries. You liked nose jobs and liposuction. We liked concave reading nooks and cross bracing steel beams. To each their own. What was done to Milly was sacrilege, inhumane. Whoever this band of marauders was comprised of did not understand structural integrity. Several load bearing beams were heard splitting over the racket of hammer to tile, stucco and wood. There were more thundering cracks and yells of confusion when one side of Milly came crashing down. Her other side stood exposed and jagged, veiled in a plume of heavy debris. Whatever you sought after was lost at that point. As was your gang of leftovers that initiated the brutality. At least Milly got the last laugh. What did you so desperately need that was inside of her? I'll miss that old gal. She was one of the more beautiful architectural feats from history. So stoic and matriarchal. A great conversationalist to boot. Did you know Joseph Ardizzone's wife had an ongoing torrid love affair with another woman within Milly's walls? Or that Randy Steven Kraft had written down the names of all 82 (that's right, not the speculated 61) of his victims underneath one of her floorboards to help him keep his scorecard accurate? It's crazy to imagine how events would have played out if you had the means to hear us. Your numbers are dwindling with each visit you pay here. Also, there's a small crack starting to form upon my brow. I'm left dreaming you'll show up with some fresh stucco instead of the intention of my destruction.

Day 407: What was that noise? It's been so long since I've heard any kind of movement through here. Aside from cars groaning into settlement from wilting tires or the occasional howls of your yellow eyed dogs, it's been stale. There it is again. Such trepidation with the footfall. Except it doesn't sound like your feet. It's daintier. I can hear it coming down my side of the curb, just out of sight from my peripheral. Oh wow, it's a Bambi. I've seen you touting the paraphernalia of the Bambi; overexaggerated eyes and pouty, precious smile. I had no idea it was a real living thing. I've seen your horses by way of parades and touristy gimmicks. The Bambi is much more tiny. Everything about it is miniatured. Slender, sleek, tiny hooved and narrow faced. Did you ride this animal as well? I can't imagine you did. Surely it would collapse under your size and weight. Oh look, another Bambi! This one even smaller! They're so fanciful. I'm enchanted by their gingerly placed steps and the swiveling of their lithe heads to and fro, ears perked forward in observance. The tiny nubbin of a tail delights me too. They carry on down the boulevard, side by side, white haunches drifting out of my view. Does this mean the Sonic Hedgehog is real as well? I hope it comes through here. It's supposed to be incredibly fast. Oh oh! I wonder if this Predator thing is as big as it's been pictured! Wouldn't that be a sight to behold! What else did you keep hidden away?

Day 513: I'm daydreaming again. Riffing through my memories of your day to day dwellings. Especially my personal inhabitant, Miss Demuth. She was helpful to the visitors that came and went. A very cheery, silver haired dame. Took good care of me. I scored some new wiring and one of those nifty reading nooks built into my left wall thanks to her. A lovely coat of exterior paint dubbed 'the cats meow' was my last make-over bestowed upon me. It was this elegant blue and gray coloration. I haven't seen a bluish gray cat though, so I'm not too understood about what this has to do with meowing. Miss Demuth was well respected by you all. I remember her training Michael on the old fashioned register she had plunked on the countertop. A big metal relic with loud dings and strikes. I wish I could have alerted her to his pilfering dishonesty. She caught on eventually. Once there was an established pattern of cash drops ill reflecting the sales, Michael was no more. Miss Demuth had a bubble machine tucked into one of the hanging flower baskets that protruded from my right side. Now that was an all over crowd pleaser. Everyone reveled in the simplicity of these floating prismatic wonders of soap and water. Very popular with your children. I yearn for Miss Demuth and her gentleness and care. I long for... everyone.

Day... A loud staticky signal just pierced through my deep hibernation. Great. I've finally accepted your desertion, retreating into myself, and I'm jarred back to consciousness. What is it now? Hang on a moment. I need to open my channels. That's better. Hello? What is this muddled amassing of chirps? It sounds distant. Wait a minute. It's very distant. I'm starting to recognize the dialect now... saplings! Very young saplings at that. All they're able to speak is 'Hi, hi, hi! Wow! Up! Up! Blue! Up!'. Until this moment I gave up on trying to breech the dead zone out there. This is ground breaking. I'm talking straight up miracle status here! I can finally tune in to viable sources past that obstruction. Saplings are not a very reliable avenue to patch across far stretches of land though. I'll have to give it time before I can reconnect with the networks beyond them. What a lovely piece of news to wake up to. I suppose I can drop the crochety attitude considering this was a worthy rousing. May as well stretch my sensibilities while I'm awake, get myself up to date on the surroundings. I see more flora and fauna has established itself. There's a thick vine of morning glory that has covered half of my face, steadily aimed for my rooftop. Does this make me look, what is that term... emo? At least it hides the blight making it's way down my wall. Did it get bigger? There's rust accumulating on some of the cars left in the streets. I see some of the intersection stoplights have fallen. Did I sleep through an earthquake? I must have seeing as a few of my neighbors have crumbled into the street, settled rubbish laid out in a wavy pattern. Percy's sign is finally gone. Probably brought down by the chunk of cornice that seems to have broken away. I think I'll stay cognizant for now. I want to keep an ear to this fresh tether that's made itself known. Perhaps I'll find out where you all went finally.

Day... Who knows how many days have passed since descending into my stupor. Considering the all too evident changes in the setting before me, my guess would be many. I waited until the last of my neighbors detached into self isolation before taking the dive myself. I think I was on day 789? I wonder if they heard the call as well. No one is saying anything yet. Well, at least the ones that haven't fallen to ruins. Goodness I smell putrid. My backdoor was left ajar when Miss Demuth took off and I believe the wildlife have used my inside as a personal commode. Now I understand why Terry was so snappish. It's a very intolerable smell. Damn, I may have spoken too soon. One of those yellow eyed dogs is headed in my direction. Please, please, please do your business elsewhere. Be a good dog and scamper away. Or high tail it out of here? Wow, he is bolting. Ah, it's clear why now. I see you coming from around the corner. Only two of you this time. Depressing but I can set it aside and be more overjoyed by your company. Who knows how long it's been since your last visit. I've been a bit comatose. You seem much thinner than I remember you all looking before. Kind of sickly honestly. Is there a new diet fad going around? Those were quite popular back then. There was the paleo one and the one with the cabbage soup. Juice cleanses and something about cotton balls? I'm getting off track here. Good news though, I've decided to forgive you. Would you like to come inside? My wall still stands strong. Never mind the crack up there, it's purely an aesthetic problem. My structure is not compromised in any manner. Did you actually hear me this time? I'm rattled! You're almost to my door! I can't wait for the tinkling aria of my silver bell. Hurry up would you!

Oh how I've missed that ring. You my friends, have scratched an itch that's vexed me for what feels like a millennia. How can I ever repay you? There's a cupboard in my kitchenette that has some candy bars and chips hiding inside. It's not much but you seem like you could use it. This skeletal look is unbefitting. I always adored your more plumper versions. As a wall, having greatness to your stature is a more enticing feature to us. I heard a song once that mentioned a lady being a brickhouse and I couldn't have agreed more emphatically if I tried. Wouldn't you like to rest up a bit? Sit down in the velvet chairs Miss Demuth brought in. I've heard nothing but compliments of adoration about them. You jumped straight into rummaging through my bookshelves. Cutting straight through the red tape are we? Naughty. I'll overlook your skimming of proper pleasantries since this is your first time in. You can't eat the books though, you know that right? Alright what are we looking at here, let's see. Farmers Almanac 2022 edition, okay. Advanced Bushcraft: An Expert Field Guide to the Art of Wilderness Survival. Interesting choice, but makes sense I guess. Foraging for Survival: Edible Wild Plants of America. That one got great reviews from the naturalist communities. Oxford Handbook of Clinical Medicine, Your Natural Medicine Cabinet, Advanced First Aid and Emergency Care, Off Grid Living: How to Plan and Execute Living Off the Grid, The Merck Veterinary Manual. Stocking up I see. May I point you in the direction of our Homesteading section? Homemade Contrivances and How to Make Them may be of interest to you. It received five star reviews from the off the grid folks. It happens to share a shelf with Back to Basics: A Complete Guide to Traditional Skills which seems to fit what you're looking for. While you're at it, maybe you can peek at Builders Guide to Stucco, Lath and Plaster, ahem. I hope you'll stay for a bit.

Day 2,772: I'll be damned. I didn't realize that's how long it's been. Thanks for hanging out and getting me up to speed on what day it is. I wish you hadn't made a firepit in my entryway but whatever it takes to keep you around I figure. Your stories have been quite enlightening. Let me get this straight. There's a shelter you have to get back to. You're searching for books to bring back and help the others. Meaning there are more of you! I knew it. From the sounds of it though not too many. I don't think Miss Demuth will mind if you take those without paying. Sounds like desperate times. I'd like to understand what this radiation poisoning means though. It gets mentioned quite a bit. You've linked it to a bulk of illnesses that everyone's suffering from too. I wonder if that's what I was feeling in my walls all those years ago. That bizarre mutation in Los Angeles air was repulsive. Ray-dee-A-shun. I can somewhat recall Will mentioning this. I know you're both tired but it'd be really appreciated if you'd elaborate further in your conversing. I'd like to know more. It's not like I can scream at you to answer my questions. I mean, I can, but it won't do any good. What made you leave so quickly? Why did everyone have to go? Where did this radiation poisoning come from? Is that what obscured everything outside of radial boundary? I can seriously drawl on about this. I've had nothing but time. If you could just go explore the cabinets in the back area and get yourself something to munch on that'd be great. Food equals energy. I need you energized in order to keep up in your discussions here. Or you can go back to sleep. Sure. Try not to snore so loudly this time.

Day 2,773: Only one of you has woken up so far. The smaller person of your little duo. Finally walking around; hopefully to the back. About time you got snoopy. I've told you I have a lot to offer. Oh jeez, you're too short. Use the chair in the corner. There see? Isn't that nice to find? Oh my aren't you ravenous! Bring some to your friend out there. Come on, I need you both up and filling me in on what's next. Wake him up. Shake him some more. Shake harder now I know you've got it in you. Um, try yelling? Pinch his arm! Slap him! Why isn't he getting up? Hang on, let me open up here. Oh... I see. His, uh, pitch has gone silent. Gosh, sorry about that. You all must really be sick. Your tears are so quiet yet loudly translate an acquainted pain. It sounds like a familiar occurrence for you. When Miss Demuth was crying, she'd eat her candy bars. Maybe you should have another one. I understand you're upset but please don't go. Not yet. It doesn't look like you can carry all those books you're packing. Seems too weighted for your tiny frame to lug around. I told you. You threw yourself straight to the ground swinging that bag over your shoulder. Well that sounded like a cathartic scream. I've had a few good ones myself to be fair. Please don't rush away. Stop! Don't do this to me again!

Damnit.

You sure do move fast when the mood strikes. Watch out for the sinkhole over there. Wouldn't want your blinding anguish to be your undoing on the trek back to this 'shelter'. I'll try not to get sour over this. You know, my walls are just as good to function as a shelter too. I do pray you come back for the books you had to take out of your bag. I know the others were relying on these coming back with you both. I feel badly about your friend. Ugh, though I wish you would've moved him outside. This gives me the creeps. I'm not a mortuary, that would be Hilda. She's five blocks south of here. Maybe the rest of you leftovers will come back and take him there. Seems only right. I'm sure you'll return once you catch word that I have something to offer you all. The knowledge and directions to restoring your lives. Hopefully us as well.

Day 2,794: Why oh why must my walls be so porous? I'm never going to get this smell out. How nauseating. I DID NOT realize you decomposed like fruit left out on the counter too long. Except it's much more rancid and foul. Those yellow eyed dogs came and helped themselves in the most disturbing manor to bits and pieces of the one left here. He's strewn all around the place now. I feel desecrated. Why haven't you come back yet? Are you waiting for your friend to turn to dust? Or... did you not make it back? I hate playing the waiting game. The only prize I win is a heaping state of derangement. I don't seem to have any choice in the matter though. I will say, I wasn't prepared for the amount of time that's passed. Good on you all for hanging in there. I'll go back to watching the horizon for your return. It can't get any worse at this point right? Ooh, that was weird. What was that? What an uncomfortable feeling, I think I've felt it before. There it is again. No need for alarm now, calm down calm down. Think. When have I felt this sensation before? Earthquakes? A short in my circuitry? Oh. Oh no... oh no no no. Roaches.