The Obelisk

The wind moved through the ruined streets of what was once Washington D.C., carrying with it the stench of dust, oil, and regret. Maren stood in the shadow of the monument that had once been a symbol of pride and unity—the great Obelisk, its marble scarred and blackened from fire.

She remembered the day it fell, not physically, but spiritually—the day it stopped being a monument and became a mirror.

The screens in the city had played endless loops of politicians preaching “renewal,” “safety,” “progress.” Each speech sounded the same, a hollow hymn of control. Behind them, the Obelisk rose like a lie too heavy to collapse. Its reflection in the reflecting pool shimmered beneath gray skies, fractured by the ripples of unrest.

Then came the protests, the riots, the banners that claimed to fight for freedom but only deepened the chains. The marble plaza turned to smoke and blood. People screamed slogans they no longer understood. Soldiers—drones, really—patrolled the perimeters, scanning faces, tagging dissenters, and vanishing them into the night.

The Obelisk stood silent through it all.

And so it became a lightning rod—not for hope, but for rage. Every broadcast, every lie, every piece of propaganda beamed across the networks found its echo here. The monument seemed to absorb it all: the deceit, the hunger for power, the betrayal of trust. When lightning struck its tip during the final storm of the capital’s fall, some swore it wasn’t just a storm—it was judgment.

Now, years later, Maren walked through the ruin, her lantern flickering weakly against the dying light. The Obelisk leaned slightly, a fracture running down one side, like a wound that refused to close.

She paused at the base, placing her hand against the cold, soot-stained stone.

“This was where it ended,” she whispered. “And where the lie was buried.”

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled again—not the kind born of weather, but of decay and collapse.

Maren lifted her lantern higher and turned away, heading toward the outskirts where the earth had begun to reclaim the bones of the old world. The reflection of the Obelisk stretched across the ruined pool behind her—tall, broken, fading into the darkness.

It had once been built to reach heaven.
Now, it only pointed toward what had been lost.