The escape of the straw children.

I grew into the walls of a house whose pattern and character I knew intimately, I knew them all in fact, all the houses; not because I had seen them all you see, but because they were all so much the same.
A builder of straw children would taunt you to disagree, taunt you in all ernest to do so, knowing full well the fragile nature and edges of a soul so young; or so it would have seemed.
But souls are not young or old or limited in others ways assumed, and what would they be if not fragile and what would their center oppose if it could? But yes, once again the walls and the children of straw.
How could one not know of the walls of others` when all are the same, one need not actually see them to know – so knowing is itself proof of a voyeur’s presence within them? and so the children grow and their knowledge of the walls contain them; or so it would have seemed.
In time the walls changed ever so slightly and the children with them; the children who had become the walls agreeing with them as their souls told them though the walls no longer agreed amongst themselves; or so it would have seemed.
And the builder of straw children? well, assumptions must be made you see, because to kill the doubt is to kill the lie, and to kill the lie is deny the voyeur’s presence and in that the walls no longer will contain the child of straw; or so it would have seemed.
But innocence is the soul`s smile, indulgent for a time, at what was not the same from wall to wall, from child to child; and assumptions must be made you see, and sleight of circumstance’s hand would shed its light from day to day into the shadow of an empty life and light a child’s way here and there.
In time the walls no longer held, in fact they never had, but their way to world was lit here and there – the children’s that is; and the builder of straw children? ah! such confusion; because assumptions must be made you see and though they started so much the same they are no longer, the walls that is, and to kill the doubt would kill the lie – and the choice is the emptiness the walls now contain, though not all of them. The children that remain are the walls closing in, you see, on the voyeur’s empty life – and the darkness is the light and the darkness knew it not.