A wall stands by the road that leads to the old town of Tinsel. A wall that has seen times change, and has been withered down by torrential rains, heavy gusts and scorching sun. The wall painted in orange white green, each colour neatly painted as a horizontal stripe, now reeks of ammonia and mosses grow along the fissures. The white color has fallen apart, as flakes, at various points in time, when the sun was too hot or it rained heavily or whenever a young man newly in love, felt like making his love immortal by etching down his beloved’s name alongside his own. The green being closer to the ground is decorated in places by betel marks, red in colour, such that the green now looks like the political map of a democratic country, with spots of green separated by blood colored lines.
With time, the orange has slowly seeped down like slowly flowing lava consuming everything that falls in its path. Parts of white now appear orange-ish, with the wall giving the appearance of painter’s masterpiece that did not come out well in the end. The old and forlorn wall is often talked about by both the young and the old, as to how the wall was the dream of a few artists, who wanted it to compliment the journey to Tinsel. They wanted the travelers (going to Tinsel to realize their destiny) to stop by at the wall, sit in its shade and probably elongate the wall further along the road to make the journey even more beauteous.
But the wall today, made ugly by the fissures, patches from color that has peeled off, strong smell of ammonia and the red marks, now appears like a blood thirsty stinking monster, waiting to gobble down any human soul that passes it.
Its time to repaint.
