We thought the wall would be made from bricks.
But the first, he made with paper.
Words kept the others out.
He kissed his pen, thanking it for its power.
Still the others voyaged towards the greener grass.
Our grass.
The paper crumpled. Desperation tore through.
The second wall was made with fear.
Terror spread like a virus.
Wearing his crown, he smiled as we kept the others out.
Still the others arrived.
They became us.
They had always been us.
We had been divided.
No more.
A third wall. But not for us. For him.
For his grass to grow. His crown to be protected.
Taller, he kept building.
Taller, until he couldn’t see the sun.
Taller, no way in.
No way out.
His stomach grumbled, but still he clutched his crown.
His grass turned to dust, but still he smiled.
Alone, he died with us.
About the Creator
Rose Grace
An illustrator, teacher, sci-fi fan, and brand new writer.
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