The Heart of Henry Willows

He sat alone that dark night, resting his head against the cold brick wall of Essex. The wall ran the full length of Berber Street and had stood there for as long as Henry Willows could remember.

What lay beyond that tall brick wall in Essex was a mystery to him, but each night, without fail, Henry Willows could be seen making his way up and down the desolate street, stopping every so often to examine some certain section of brickwork, checking for places of weakness or cracks in the mortar and moving on after finding none. Its construction was perfect in every way; the great wall forever standing tall and imposingly in the face of Henry Willows.

Each night was a meticulous journey along Berber Street in the small town of Essex, but not that night. And now sits Henry Willows alone each night, his head firmly rested upon the icy wall of Berber Street, a broken man with a heavy heart, forever more.