The day has begun to advesperate, stowing away its warm light.

I sat there as a singular, non plural brick.

I have no name, I am simply brick. Or perhaps Brick is my name?

As I am dubbed Brick, I shall be Brick, I conclude.

Isn’t that sorta… How do I say? Depressing?

The Traveller asks me. My senses cannot make them out, but I know they wear a top hat lined with a pink band. I just simply know.

However, what is there to be depressed about? To mull over? Will I suddenly cease to be Brick through existential crisis? Unlike those of flesh and blood I have no such weakness.

Okay… Well said, little one. However, do you not ever long to be more?

More?

Were you not once a great wall embanked on these misty plains that kept out many a foe?

Ah, yes, long ago, I was not Brick, I was Wall. Though now I am Brick and that’s all that matters.

Maybe I may cease to be Brick as I had failed to be Wall? However, I simply cannot find it within myself to care any more than I would when the pigeons crap themselves around me. If such a thing were to happen, then it simply happens. It doesn’t matter to me either way.

Ah well aren’t you a bold Brick?

The Traveller… giggles? I'm not sure, I'm a Brick.

How about this. Take it and don’t forget, even if you are Brick.

So saying, the Traveller wraps a thin strip of pink ribbon round my stretcher sides. Tied in a bow.

I cannot tell what this ribbon is made of, but I do not give it heed. It is merely Ribbon, as I am Brick.

Let’s meet again!

Though before I could even realise it, the Traveller had disappeared. Where did they go? One may wonder, but as they were a Traveller, they travelled. As to where they went… A Brick was not to conclude. A Traveller had discretion, a Brick did not.

I was Brick and as Brick I stopped the ceaseless brooding.

As the eventide set, I once more sat in my place.

This time with Ribbon.

I could not see but I knew that there were Stars dotting the sky. The Architects often liked to gaze at the stars and view the Constellations. They were bright, like little dots which illuminated the way for the weary, as stated by an Architect.

An agglomeration of certain Stars made a Constellation, like how many Bricks became Wall.

Though it is piteous that the Architects are no longer here. Nor are the Soldiers and the Legions.

But they had long since been broken and buried since the Enemy came. As the Enemy broke up the Legions, they had broke up the Wall, before breaking up the lauded Fortress behind.

Apparently, the existence of the Enemy was for the sole sake of breaking and severing.

As divulged by a special Soldier known as Captain, as Bricks had Cornerstones, Soldiers had Captains. Captain said that the Enemy must be eliminated no matter the cost. But that was a job for the Soldiers, not Brick.

I am Brick, simply and solely Brick.

And once more, it was morningtide and as usual, I sat in my usual place, slightly sunken into the loamy earth.

Though there was something unusual on this ostensibly regular morn.

Dancing and prancing. The Jester performed a wonderful pantomime. It was silent, but simply the taps of their feet and the jingles of their bells extrapolated an evanescent story. It was unfathomable and the synesthesia I felt was uncanny yet familiar.

Simply splendid!

The Jester concludes his show. Giving a light bow my way, thanking me for the kind praise.

I would applaud if I could, but the Jester needs no such laudation, Jester performs not for the validation of masses, but for simple self gratification. They pride themselves on being a good Performer, not a thrid rate Trend Chaser.

I haven’t a clue what those are, but I know that they are merely specifications. Abstruse knowledge that a Brick wouldn’t understand nor need to understand.

Jester comes closer to where I sit, they wear a mask of black and white, of both smiles and frowns. They outstretch a hand toward me, inviting me to join them on their journey.

But I am Brick, I do not travel as a Traveller would.

Jester shakes their head. They explain, though a Jester is not one to travel, it is not as if they are restricted from doing so. And like Brick, Brick is not barred from travelling either.

I see. A Brick is not barred from travelling, like how a Jester can stray from their original callings.

Though the thought is grand, a Brick is simply not made to voyage.

It is why a Brick is simply Brick.

There are no glorious aspirations to be had.

But Jester simply chuckles at my statement. Their giggling, akin to the grinding of steel. I am Brick, but even I do not believe that giggling should sound like that.

They chided me, offering to carry my blocky form in lieu of my own inexistent limbs.

The offer was kind, but even if I could move, I wouldn’t.

I was more content staying here, but it seemed that it wasn’t only that I had to think about. There was also Ribbon. And from what I knew, Ribbons usually found themselves on city streets and not misty plains.

I asked Ribbon for their input, but I received no answer.

There was much deliberation to be had. Much silent contemplation. I am Brick so what was the need of travel? But then again, it wasn’t unwonted that a Brick be hauled around. After all, I didn’t originally come from these plains. However, I belong here now, along with my fallen compatriots.

Thus, I came to a conclusion at the dawn of a new sun. I would have to reject Jester's gracious offer.

After all, even though Ribbon favours me with their presence, in the end, it is only me. Brick.

There is no one else to account for. Only Brick.

Jester shakes his head. A pity. They sigh.

And they leave, the trotting of their gait and the chime of their bells the only cue of their ever increasing displacement from these plains.

In the end, I am left in my usual spot. As I should be. Oh wait! There’s also Ribbon here. How could I forget?

Brick and Ribbon.