Written by The Wall article It was a beautiful summer afternoon.
The skies were clear and it was sunny outside.
The street lights were shining and the breeze blew gently through the streets.
I looked around for something to read, but there wasn’t anything to read.
It was just me and the wall.
A man and a woman sat cross-legged in the middle of the street.
The man held up a piece of paper and read aloud a message from a young girl.
“I am an outsider.
My parents left me and I have no place to go,” the message read.
The woman stared at the paper and stared at me.
“You’re supposed to be the outsider,” the woman said.
The message was repeated many times over.
The young girl listened intently to what the man had to say.
I was not at home at the time, so I didn’t hear it.
It wasn’t until I had returned home and was watching the television that I realised the message had been repeated many, many times.
A few hours later, I was at home, and I read it.
I went into a rage, saying, “I will never be able to get through to this young girl!”
The woman laughed, and then she looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s a ritual.
You are the outsider.”
And I felt so much anger that I wanted to hit her.
But I couldn’t.
My father was very strict, and he had a very hard time talking to strangers, so he was very cautious.
He wouldn’t do anything to me, and if I was going to be able arouse this young boy, I needed to be a little more subtle.
I didn-and I still don’t know why-tried to talk to him.
He was very angry.
He called me a liar and a coward, and said that he wouldn’t allow me to leave.
“So you will stay here and let me kill you?”
I asked, confused.
“No,” I said.
“If you kill me, I’ll kill you.
That’s the truth.
But, if I don’t kill you, you’ll be safe.”
“So I’m here to kill you,” he said.
I started crying, and it just kept going on.
I asked him why he was killing me, because I had been the one who had been making him feel that way.
He said, “Because you didn’t tell me the truth.”
I said, horrified.
“Yes,” he replied.
He started to beat me, as if to punish me.
And I said something like, “Stop.”
It’s so weird that you’re so angry when you’re not hurt.
You’re very angry, you say, and you’re trying to tell me that you don’t want to hurt me.
But you’re actually very angry and you want to beat someone else up.
But it’s not happening.
I’m still not sure why I’m being so angry.
I don-I can’t say I’m angry at him, but he’s not angry at me, either.
It just goes on.
And then he starts beating me up, because he wants me to hurt him.
I just want to be left alone, and nobody’s hurt me before.
But he’s hurting me, too.
“Now, you can’t do that,” I told him.
“But I’m afraid that when you go back to my place, I won’t be able be around you any longer.”
“But if I kill you and you die, I’m going to leave you here,” he told me.
I said that I was very sorry.
And he told my father that I wasn’t really sorry, and that he didn’t want me to die.
So I thought, “Well, that’s it.”
And so I was here, and the boy who had left me told me that he would come back with me.
That he would find me.
He came back and told me what had happened, and so I followed him.
And so, the next day, I went to his place, and we started beating him up.
And it’s strange that I haven’t had to kill anyone.
It didn’t bother me at all, and when I was being beaten up, it was very gentle, very respectful.
I haven-I don’t remember what I said at the moment, but I don and I didn, so that was the first time I ever said anything.
The boy came back with my mother, and they all sat there in silence.
My mother-and she was my best friend, my mother-went on in silence and I was left alone.
And that’s how I started to feel.
I couldn-I was just very confused.
I told myself that I didn´t want to do anything wrong.
But my mind started thinking that it couldn’t