The Tower Builder

There once was a man so bleak and despairing and angry that he decided to kill himself.

So much so, however, that no ordinary suicide would do to fully express the depths of his contempt for everything.

He decided he had to build a tower higher than any tower ever had been built to jump off of.

It was an endeavor of years.   Raging, he learned architecture and engineering.

In pure spite, he found funders.  He savagely browbeat them into accepting his only marginally commercially-valuable vision for the tower.  After all, the point was not to make money.  The point was to show the world what he thought of them.

In grinding black apathy he cut stone and hauled it himself, when necessary.

He died of natural causes, full of years and honors, bitter to the end.  The tower was almost finished.  It sparked a revival in arts and culture.  Indeed, for the region round about, it helped to birth a great nation.

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This is dark, I know.  I don’t know what to tell you.  This is how it came to me.