We have been driving past that wall at least twice a week for a few months.
A bland, anonymous, whatever wall.
Until one day things changed.
Until one day the wall caught our attention.
It had suddenly came alive.
Someone had turned it into a canvas.
Someone used it as a loudspeaker to amplify her voice.
A forceful spray-painted voice.
A skeleton wearing a burqa against a city of empty buildings.
A haunting presence.
The reminder that the horror of violence would come and bite back.
A reminder that the only way to escape the circle of repetition is to interrupt it.