Decaying Tombs

The great halls of justice, once symbols of order and accountability, stood silent and abandoned. Cracked marble columns, streaked with grime, loomed over shattered glass doors, their inscriptions of "Equal Justice Under Law" mocking the ghosts that lingered within.

Inside, the air was thick with mildew and rot. Courtrooms sat in eerie stillness, their benches coated in dust, their judge’s chairs empty—thrones that had once dispensed law but had instead become instruments of corruption. The very men and women sworn to uphold justice had turned it into a game, bending and breaking laws to shield the powerful and crush those who dared oppose them.

It hadn’t happened overnight. The rot had begun slowly, with small favors, hidden deals, and whispered promises in dark corridors. But as the nation spiraled toward ruin, the judges had been turned into weapons—tools of the politicians who had stolen everything that wasn’t nailed down. Laws were twisted beyond recognition, verdicts sold to the highest bidder, and those who sought justice were met with a cold, bureaucratic void.

Then, one day, the gavel fell for the last time. The courts, now useless in a land without law, were abandoned. Files were left to decay in rusted cabinets. The scales of justice, once polished to a pristine shine, hung tarnished and forgotten. Vines crept through shattered windows, and the wind whispered through the empty chambers like a lament for what had been lost.

These buildings, once the backbone of civilization, had become nothing more than decaying tombs—monuments to a nation that had traded truth for power, justice for greed, and law for chaos.