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Old Buildings before/after As i went down the stairway at work, I had a vision of far off times. The building was old. Very old, likely ancient in some sense, but time was lost. Over run by vines, weeds and mice, these buildings made of concrete and steel in the middle of nowhere had been built to last, and last they did. Past the wars and disasters, conflagarations and conflict. Until the final blow which nearly wiped us all out. And here, at last, hundreds of years later, children had happened on the worksite, creeping warily in through the broken glass doors, all was silent, as they marveled at their discovery, wondering what souls still lingered there, exploring, much as children always do, their world, their space. The place is devoid of souls, of soul. The master stroke of colonization for this space was the abject removal of all that's human. Only nature could reclaim such a place, and she was having a tough time, even as vines embraced the roughly square buildings. Green grass medows rung the buildings round, a break from the encroaching old-growth forest. How long had it been here? What had happened? What did they do here? No one would ever know. Eventually, one day, through repeated exploration, one would eventually find the firesafe, and all the drawings of the buildings that the company once owned, kept safe through the meandering years, of buildings long gone. These drawings, once seeming so important, will serve as childrens playthings, meaning nothing. A plot drawing becomes a cape. Or a hat. Or starts a fire. These so, so, precious things to the soulless corporate conglomerate in the end mean nothing as much as a cats-eye marble, or a spinning top. Its fitting, right? And the world regrew, with the unspoiled vistas of which it once had so plenty, so beautiful as to seem to only exist in some far off place, breathed, and was healthy again.
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