A castle for the New and the Old

Tall, gray, strong, a massive hulk laying against a gray sky it’s concrete form looming as the sun sets it’s deadly shadow casting a never forgotten reminder: ‘today might be your last’. A bomb shelter. Under the small sign declaring that this building was equipped to handle fallout, a small yellow and black radiation symbol. Those small strips were a universal reminder of times that had already passed, times of war and times of fear. The colossal building had withstood the sharpest winds and the coldest rains. The roof still stands unchanged after the furies of countless blizzards and the gray walls remain unadorned by the marks of errant vandals.

The sunlight shines from the building, it’s gray form mixing into the morning fog and the perpetual smoke in the air. The rays of the sun silhouette the gray form in a glow of dirty yellow light. Cars honk in the distance as the busy street comes alive with the morning crawl of traffic. Words are shouted and the tires ground the sounds of the morning echoing off the sturdy walls. As the morning light pierces through the gray cloak of fog the passersby barely take note of the gray monolith streaking into the sky. Every errant glance on the yellow-black sends shivers down the spines of people who remember. For those folks who remember the time the building was constructed, who remember the fear this building looms overhead a chain to keep these folk from moving on from that grim time.

The sky was grayer then. Black clouds of smoke billowed out from large smoke stacks. The puffy clouds mixed with the white cloud of the sky making black-and-white cloud pictures in the sky. Cars buzzed by on their merry ways, and the streets were busy with people walking. The engines rumbled as a new car sporting an loud and powerful diesel engine streaked by. All around there was construction. There was the vibrancy of men working. The dim outlines of towers stood like great stick figures jutting out into the sky. Later the walls will be constructed the floors furnished with rolls of carpet and slabs of stone, and people will move in. Some of the buildings will be offices where solemn suits will fill up offices. Some will be apartments were toys will fill up bedrooms. But back then only the outlines of these buildings had been finished. The future only a bare shadow on the minds of the men working on the buildings. A future that may not come.

Every night as the city turns to sleep the buzz of radios and televisions conquer the dinner tables. Words are thrown about in hushed tones bouncing off sacred hearths and stirring a deep black fear which shrouds the strongest fires. Words such as “the Evil Empire”, “Communist”, and “Nuclear Fallout” whose very uttering sober even the most lively of parties. When the buzz of electric lights are extinguished, the toys all packed up, and the children seek refuge under heavy colors under an oppressive blank sky, silent words form on their lips: “Please let me see the flowers bloom again”: a quiet prayer to some watching deity.

In the days of yore kings had their castles. Great affairs with turrets piercing into the sky, walls shielding the day’s sun and moats whose smell kept armies at bay. Trumpets might be heard from the rafters as the king dressed in gowns of purple and gold arrived on chariots flying flags over every color imaginable. Musical notes might fill the days air as the king ate glorious feasts in grand halls. Cheers might tremble the walls as returning war heroes clad in green and white tunics returned. Their shields displaying heraldic crests of noble families. And dances would occur where the jubilant shouts of the common man filled the air, and chaos reigned for a time on the well kept streets. Cannons brought and end to those days with their powerful shots they shattered the walls and brought trembling monarchs down to their knees.

Now a fortress stands, the last few pounds of concrete poured, the yellow and black paint on the walls drying and the vast underground cavern dim and silent. The gray hulk merged into the dim sky, the gray of the sky matching the gray of the building. In front of it, a podium rests where a man in a jet black suits shouts to the world. Christening this new palace in front of a small crowd he declared that this might be the last hope for humanity, the last hope for anyone. Before him the honks and drones of cars filled the street. The men and women watching him stand with rapt gazes a blighted fear growing in their hearts. With a silent awe the city seemed to stop as the people felt hope in their new fortress. Hope which was drowned out by the cold black fear which asked the question: “What comes next?”

Yet now the tower stood bleak against the vibrant city. The sky had the vaguest tints of blue now and the cars buzzed by filling the air with honks and screeches. The building reigned on though. The symbol lived on. Though that fear had been conquered by peace, it was an uneasy peace. And as then men and women who were alive when that monolith were built drive by, a tingle rolls down their back as they remember that fear and the silent prayers for a new day.