The Wall of Wishes

“April 19, 2000 - Elias Creekwood”, he etches neatly into the face of one of my few untouched bricks. Creekwood, I think to myself, smiling on the inside with pride and joy. He sat down in the overgrown mess of grass in front of me with his back pressed against my cold stones, and stared into the setting sun just above the town’s cathedral. I waited silently with anticipation, towering over him, and just as the great Joseph Creekwood had done 25 years before him, he relaxed. With a heaving sigh of relief he leaned his head backwards, resting all his burdens on me. Nestled under my cold shade, he had found solace, just as many others had, including his grandfather. I was known for that. For I was the wall who made sorrow disappear, brought hope to the hopeless, and made wishes come true. I was the Wall of Wishes.

My existence began on April 19th, 1975, when Joseph Creekwood, the revered founder of this quaint town, built me in memory of his beloved wife. Brick by brick, each placed meticulously with his bare hands, I came alive. Made with grief and longing, I arose above the whispering pines that made up the Creekwood Hill. Exactly seven days after he placed my first brick, I was completed, achieving my full form. I still remember the look of pride on his face as he stood before me with his stubbly beard and kind eyes. Though he bore no smile that day, I could sense happiness within himself, and on that day I made my purpose to put smiles on peoples’ faces. I may have initially been a symbol of grief and the pain of loss, but I wanted to be more. So I became a symbol of hope and the power of love.

In those early days, it was Joseph alone who sought peace within my silent embrace, etching his sadness into the highest brick he could reach with a pen from the inside of his coat pocket. Afterwards, he would lay his head against my stone until he released whatever burdens he carried on that day. Some days he would cry, shaking with the hollowness he felt from the death of his wife. Other times he would scream or merely sit in silence, unaware of my presence and unwavering gaze. As time went on, he spent less and less time with me, yet he was happier, and with his happiness I found pride. The final day he visited me was April 19, 1976, exactly a year after I was created. He came that day with a smile unlike ever before. Standing directly in front of me, he placed one hand on me and whispered a thank you. “Thank you. Thank you for being here and for not judging me. I have found peace within your bricks, and I wish others are able to as well.” With those final words, he marked the date, “April 19, 1976 - Joseph Creekwood: The Wall of Wishes”, and departed, never to be seen again.

Days passed in silence as I stood there by myself. Waiting for someone to come so I could serve my purpose as a bringer of hope. On the ninth night of solitude, I was awoken close to midnight by the snap of a fallen twig on the ground. Suddenly, a beam of a flashlight hit me, as a tall, lean figure came closer. They approached me with caution, directing the flashlight at different sections of my being. The upper left brick on which Joseph Creekwood had marked his soul on not long ago seemed to catch their attention. “The Wall of Wishes”, the stranger whispered, almost as if that name was familiar to him. I strained to see their face against the shine of the light, and just as I got a glimpse of their eyes an owl screeched in the distance. Startled by the cry, he looked around and quickly bolted back into the darkness of the trees, disappearing into the night.

The next morning, just as the church bell rang six and the birds started singing their tunes, another snap disturbed my slumber. My eye catches a tall, lean figure, with the same stubbly beard and kind sorrowful eyes as my creator, Joseph Creekwood. The resemblance this stranger bore was uncanny. He was too similar to Joseph to be merely a stranger, and soon enough my suspicions were confirmed when he pulled out a pen from his jacket pocket to scribble, “April 28, 1976 - Christopher Creekwood”. He paused for a second, as if debating whether or not to stop or continue writing. Choosing the latter, he continued to write …

“Father passed away a few days ago, and one of the last things he mentioned before he passed was this wall. He said it helped him grieve mother and that if I felt any sorrow after his death, to come here for comfort. At first I thought it was probably a figment of his imagination, some distorted memory of his, caused by the strain of death, but I guess it was true. Something about this wall feels special, almost as if it’s listening to you, that’s probably just my imagination though. I honestly don’t even know what I’m doing here, I just know I feel a little more hope here than I have since he passed away. I also hope my meeting goes well this afternoon, I hope I make my father proud. I guess we’ll find out. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I have hope for good news. Thank you, Wall of Wishes, maybe my wish will come true.” 

With that he steps back, his eyes darting back and forth as he goes over what he just engraved into me. Satisfied, he puts his pen back into his coat, smiling lightly before disappearing back into the trees. Pride overwhelmed me, I was doing it, I was helping people. I was giving people hope. 

Christopher came back the next day, the same time as he had the previous day, just as he had said. I had been anticipating his arrival, and right when the bell chimed six, he emerged from the trees, smiling from ear to ear. “I got the promotion!”, he exclaims happily. Pausing at my lack of response, he sighs, almost as if he had forgotten that I was but a brick wall created by his father. Deciding that merely talking to me was insufficient, he excitedly grabs his pen from his pocket. “April 29, 1976 - Christopher Creekwood”, he starts writing under what he had written yesterday morning. “I did it! I got the promotion! I’m moving to Hillcrest City tomorrow. Maybe father was right and this wall does grant wishes. Either way, I hope I made you proud father”. With that he stepped back, and gazed at me with gentle eyes, almost as if he was admiring my bricks. Reaching one hand out to press against my cold bricks, just as his father had done, he thanked me, and departed, never to be seen again.

After Christopher’s departure I was no longer lonely. Word of a mysterious wall that brought fortune to Christopher and made wishes come true spread across town. Everybody regardless of any societal labels, sought me out, drawn by the promise of miracles and the allure of the unknown. Over the years, I bore witness to countless wishes, both big and small. From the hopeful whispers of young lovers facing hardships, to the desperate pleas of those facing hardship, each soul who came to me left behind a piece of themselves, woven in the fabric of my being. I continued to serve as a silent witness to the joys and sorrows of the townsfolk, their hopes and dreams etched upon my surface for all eternity. 

Yet as time marched on, so too did the town of Creekwood Heights. Its once-thriving community slowly fading into obscurity, leaving less than one hundred people to roam the lonely roads. Hushed murmurs of a new mayor coming to tear me down flew through the wind like autumn leaves in a gust. Anticipation had been brewing through the cracks upon my brick surface for this fateful day. April 19, 2000.