Concrete Walls

Madalyn stepped off the bus lightly and looked around. Cement walls, walls, a

few windows, and she began to look further up. Where was the sun? Sunshine?

She sighed. She cranked her head, so she saw straight up. The buildings around

her rose up like prison walls, taunting her. Ignoring them, she found the sky.

‘Wow,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Who would live like that? Work like that?’ But she

felt her heart tugging at her dreams, and then it dawned on her. These buildings

were whatever she chose to see them as: prison walls, or protective arms,

saying, ‘I’ve got your back.’

Emberley rose up from the ground: menacing to some, friendly to others, but

mostly what its own residents made it to be with their daily routine. But to

Madalyn, it felt like home. She knew it took her awhile to settle into a place.

Become comfortable and friendly. Create a healthy routine and environment

around herself so others could see that there was life beyond their own comfort.

That they didn’t have to accept what they didn’t want to accept.

Madalyn felt herself being pushed aside. She turned to look and watched a

dirty and scruffy man carrying his bed and belongings along with

him down the street. She watched him, wondering why he accepted his position

in life so wholeheartedly. Why would anyone do that? What happened to getting up every time one fell?

But Madalyn’s childhood approached her, and she remembered pieces of her story. It wasn’t mental health for her. It was her parents choosing to neglect her. They’d eliminated her as a member, but her siblings embraced her as one. That had dissembled her family and eventually her mom had won out. The siblings followed her parents teachings. She didn’t care. She chose herself. She wanted to make her dreams reality. She was more important than what life threw at her. She didn’t care how far she had to go: if she died trying that was better than being stuck like or with her parents. She shook her head, trying to erase the uneasy cobwebs of memory.

Thinking that others would want what she did: a home, an address, school for a better life,

maybe a family eventually, but she was letting that one go. She was too old now,

and too far to go before she could allow herself to entertain such fanciful ideas.

‘Fine,’ she muttered to herself. ‘They don’t want an opportunity now, then I’ll take

mine. I’m not waiting. For nobody. I’ll show ‘em how it’s done.’