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How does this image speak to you? Metaphor of the present? Sentinel of the past? Write a story of 100 words, no more no less, and post in the comments.
I’ll start with a story
*************************************
The walls did not fall.
March. March again. Round and round. In the sun, in the rain. One foot, the next.
The walls did not fall.
We fell. Body upon body. Score upon score.
We walked and wore new raiment of blood and flesh. Fallen, exhausted beyond all wit and care.
The walls did not fall.
A pause, he appeared. A slender youth who did not even possess but the finest bit of beard. Tall and confident he strode.
We watched: suspicious, angry, witless, resentful, hopeful. He raised a trumpet to his lips …
And the walls began to fall.
**************************************
Now, your turn.
moshpitsoccermom says: Every day, we hear them. Footsteps, some light and quick, some slow and deliberate, but always there. Back and forth. We hear the voices, too, though we can’t make out the words. Oddly, they always seem…calm, not angry, not the shouts of attack and defense. We call them the ghosts, we who live here in the walls. We can sometimes see them, dressed garishly in flowing garments. Never armor, no weapons. It’s puzzling, but it’s our job to guard these walls so we try not to look at them. We guard, and we wait.
Pyrthroes says: Over the years, people of the desert joined forces to erect a great arched way. Not for chariots sweeping forward on scythed wheels, nor for relentless legions, was this high path, but for life-giving water cultivating fields. Addressing Fate, we conquered not onrushing Nebuch or Sennacherib, but withal ourselves.
Steven Fletcher says: The old man leaned forward, tamping the tobacco in his pipe.
“You see, Rome had a great, big, beautiful wall that stretched from Germania in the east to Moesia in the west. The people inside that wall lived peaceful lives of quiet dignity safe from invaders. But in 406 a.d. the Visigoths broke through the wall. They poured inside taking property that belonged to the Roman citizens themselves.
“Yes, the great, big, beautiful wall had saved them as long as it existed. Civilization needs walls.”
The man emptied his pipe. “If only they had kept their great, big, beautiful wall.”
The old man, with deep sadness at all he had witnessed, the long sure and fatal crumbling of his once great republic, now in its final death throws, was sure that history would not be kind to his people, who had squandered a priceless gift, freedom itself. So, what was painfully and courageously pursued, built upon firm foundations and resolute convictions, structured to endure all assaults, lost its will to survive and succumbed to internal strife ending in self-destruction. Freedom firmly corrupted, cannot sustain life, nor liberty, nor pursuit of happiness, for it was truly indispensable for endurance against evil.
Dave says: Shalla looked at the destruction with sadness.
“Your great grandfather was here when it started. He passed this story to my mother who passed it to me. Now, I give it to you. You, my daughter, must tell your children. We must remember.”
“Why did it start?” Shalla quietly asked.
“The robot wars began,” I said, “when a worker robot was thrown from the top by a manager robot. Another robot worker asked why he did it. The manager robot relied, ‘I am more equal, more deserving of this space.’”
“Ah,” said Shalla, “yeah, that would do it.”
guinspen 
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