100 Words a Day 465

The red brick was faded. Years of staring into the sun had left its exposed face bleached. The cement holding it in place was crumbling, leaving part of the unfaded top visible. The porous skin was weather-beaten and water-damaged, evidence of a long life spent outdoors. The brick stood stoic no more. What was once solid and unbreakable had become stiff and fragile, slowly crumbling under the heavy tread of the onward march of time. No one ever saw the brick change; they would simply take the time to look at it one day and notice how it was different.