The living room walls watched as the man and woman stuffed their gym bags with shoes, shorts, shirts, tennis rackets, and tennis balls. The walls watched them leave the house and get in their VW Bug and drive away.
“Finally,” said the first wall.
“They’ve been cooped up so long,” said the second wall.
“Need to find jobs,” agreed the third wall.
“I bet the reader thinks this is a dumb story,” said the fourth wall, which had a bad crack in it from where the man threw a plate across the room. Glass could still be found in the carpet a week later.
The first wall sighed. “Tennis is something, though, right? At least they have a way to occupy themselves through this.”
The second wall said, “From my point of view, no physical activity is going to fix things. Maybe not even jobs.”
The third wall hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t think?”
“He’s a wall,” said the fourth wall. “He can’t think. I don’t even know why I’m giving him a male pronoun.”
Ignoring the fourth wall, who was quite cracked indeed, the second wall said, “So much fighting. It’s not just restlessness. Humans need occupation, yes, but they also need emotional fulfillment.”
“From another angle,” said the first wall, “you could say that having so much time together ought to bring them closer. They never played tennis when they both had jobs.”
“Typical of you to look on the bright side,” scoffed the third wall. The first wall was painted ivory white, while the third wall was painted the colour of a stormy sea.
“Somebody’s got to,” said the first wall stuffily.
“THERE’S NO ‘BODY’ HERE!” cried the fourth wall. “We’re talking walls!”
The second wall tried to find a middle ground. “Perhaps this unemployment issue will turn out for the best. Yes, they’re angry and hateful now, but if they overcome it, they’ll be all the stronger.”
“Or they’ll fall apart along the way,” the third wall stated.
“Then what will happen to us?” the first wall wondered.
“Knocked down, I expect,” inserted the third wall.
“Or, more likely, we’ll get new tenants again,” said second.
“And I was just getting used to these ones…” said first.
“We’ll just have to wait and find out,” said second.
“Not much else we CAN do…” said third.
“THAT’S BECAUSE WE’RE WALLS,” the mad fourth wall wailed. “WE SHOULDN’T EVEN BE SENTIENT. AND WE AREN’T! THE WRITER IS MAKING US SAY THIS! THE WRITER! THE WRITER!”
The other walls were awfully sick of hearing about this fictional “Writer.”
Day 170’s three random writing prompt categories were, “Tennis,” “A punch buggy,” and, “These walls could talk.”
This amused me.