In a vast jungle of concrete, steel and glass, where the epitome of modern life was once said to be found, where vast stretches of an urban delta all stood in the shadows of this center of mass, there was one tower to lead them all. Surrounded by a hundred monuments, each appearing petty and insignificant around it, it seemed to pierce right into the sky. Grandfathers would tell their grandchildren that this colossus would prevail the ages, it would stand for generations to come and they would still see it, when they would be old, telling their offspring of the awe-inspiring beauty that would still dictate the scene, as if nothing had ever changed.

But history is cruel, and things changed. It was no sudden burst, there was no light, no impact. It was a slow decay of humanity. Slow enough that no one noticed it. But at the end of this process, there was no one alive to behold or to preserve. The tower was left on its own, left to fend for itself, left to die.

A lifetime has already passed, since its last inhabitants had decided that it was no use, and that there was no other option than to abandon it in order for themselves to survive. That is, of course, its last human inhabitants. Between the collapsed floors, in dusty crevices, engulfed by mildewed paper, a colony of rats is thriving. They had been happy to occupy this land of opportunities after it had been abandoned. Now you couldn't sleep a night in it, without the constant sound of tiny feet pattering between walls and inside pipes.

But where there is prey, there are predators. Several cats and stray dogs frequent the lower levels, in search for a meal, whether it be the aforementioned new lords of the tower, or other remnants of a dead society that had been left behind. After all, canned food is still good for centuries if you find a way to open it. On the upper floors, the rats are being hunted by a menace from above. A family of eagles has decided to build its nest on an office desk, situated alongside a broken window, which had been destroyed by a thunderstorm, decades ago. Next to pictures of the children of some nameless worker, who had spend too much of his time in this place, rather than with those he loved, and at least wanted a constant reminder of their faces, a new life is born. The mother eagle has strategically built her nest on the keyboard, where it is protected from the wind and the looks of other preying birds, by the screen and the files behind it. She proudly watches as the first of her eggs hatches, with no regard to the relic of a long since forgotten life, displayed at the birthplace of a new one.

There is a certain grace to a building being reclaimed by nature. As compelling as the tower once was, it was a landmark of sterility and greed nonetheless. Now it hosts life. But life, by its very nature, is bound to end at some point. And so is the tower. It was built with constant maintenance in mind. In a state of disregard however, the pillars that supported its weight, instead give into it. The rats have felt it, the cats, the stray dogs, the eagles, they all knew it. With each little ruckus that shook the building, prompting dust to fall from the ceiling, desks to flip over and glass to break, the next was sure to be stronger.

It was raining during the great escape of the animals. The water further corroded the pillars.




And the leviathan, the colossus, the monument of progress, is gone. Leaving nothing but a wasteland. Nothing but forgotten lore.