The Towering Man

Words spilled from his mouth endlessly--tripping and tumbling over themselves, tearing each other apart to be heard above the rest.

"You know, we have over two million guests each year," or "Our chefs are renowned throughout the entire world. The best, the best! I say," and "Five percent of all Claslowe profits go towards charitable foundations and causes." Facts and exclamations ricocheted across the marble floors and through clean, waxen whiskers and beards.

Hands like flat bricks gestured warmly and clumsily, darting back and forth like the leader of a three-ring circus, "And in this corner we bring in exotic animals from across the globe," to "Here we have agile acrobats and surreal strongmen to awe and amaze you."

The guide's face was bent, every feature an exaggerated curve from a bouncing grin that pulled his face up like plastic stretched from ear to ear. That mouth waved and flapped as he tried to explain everything at once and, of course, demanded respect for the Claslowe Hotel and Casino. A small cluster of people followed him as he leaped and bounded from attraction to attraction, not gracefully, but obnoxiously to command some sort of attention. One of this group was Carlo Vecino, the honored guest of the night, so the guide was especially estatic.

A circle of cameras and microphones weaved between the commoners and competed with the guide for the eye of Vecino with flashes and professional phrases: "Sir, what new enterprise takes you to the Claslowe Casino," and "Why have you chosen this humble city as the next pillar of your franchising empire?"

One of the guards thought it amusing that the report referred to this city as humble, just as equal to any other pillar in Vecino's empire. Mallow City was anything but humble, it was the government's spoiled prize, its protege child. Great family's like the Claslowe's poured their fortunes into its development, raising the greatest pinnacle of human achievement on Earth in just a few years.

The procession blustered through restaurants and gambling pits, across red carpet and wove through brazen pillars, until Vecino finally slipped past the press and the mad guide with his two bodyguards into an elevator. Three sides of the elevator were clear glass, and the view planted conceit in all who had a part in it. Monstrous electrical signs flashed neon, tempting and captivating, praising every trade and establishment, every facet of the great Mallow City. Spotlights ate through the darkness in fine, crisp lines, exploding across the night until hammering into heavy, black clouds. But the brooding, dark clouds weren't the ceiling anymore, as sleek, powerful skyscrapers violated and dominated the sky, dishonored it with their mocking size and blinding lights.

Vecino stepped to the far side of the elevator, holding his cane in both hands and leaning forward over the quickly disappearing streets, where the common man prowled about and hunted for survival, had to fight to be heard. Vecino spoke and it was done. A precious red stone was embossed on the crook of the cane, massive and gluttonous, like greed incarnated under the thumb of the ultimate power. Vecino rubbed the gem, ring-clad thumb rippling over its greasy surface.

"And it's all going to be mine--look at the simple animals, struggling to make an impact on the world--trying to change my world. Well they can't do anything, they'll never accomplish a thing. They're useless, no matter where they toil only I can gain," Vecino chuckled a little to himself, but both guards were stoic and silent. The elevator began to become dark as it entered the milling clouds, and he resumed.

"My eyes are over my empire, my fists clenched tight around every corner. My eyes, they see the coming in and the going out of every man, woman and child. Coming into my department stores, my resteraunts, my casinos, and going out of my offices, my subdivisions, my nightclubs. They disobey and they're instantly condemned, they've got one chance, but that's all they need. They're my subjects. I give them life--a job, a community, technology... and I take it away," the old man's words were confident and chosen precisely, he dictated his logic and reason to the nearly empty elevator. The two guards still were unmoving as the elevator exited the clouds and continued its ascent.

He continued, "And now, ah..." he laughed, "there is the greatest feat. There, is my destiny. My appointment. My purpose. Here... yes... here we are above the heavens. Above lightning, above thunder--yes, here I am above the voice of God. What more, I am above God. My construction is invincible and towering, unmoved by the groaning Earth and the glaring wind."

"I am my own master, who needs the common man's God. I control the breath of every child here on Earth, the thoughts of each self-acclaimed genius. But they are simpletons, and do you know why?" he turned quickly now to one of the guards, and he still stood at the outmost side of the elevator, "You, do you know why?"

The guard was completely silent, every muscle in his body tense and angered. Vecino took a few firm steps towards him.

"Well then I'll tell you why--they have no power. I--I have more power than you could ever imagine. The birth of every child, every financial transaction, every aspect of immigration to and from this country. I tell the bureaucrats to be silent. I shut their mouths with a simple gesture of my finger. And those vast intelligences? Those infinite, expansive mentalities? They are all under my control, because they can't see through the inhibitions of their raisings. They can't use their families as bargaining chips, their faiths and beliefs as pawns. They're arrogant, they think they were meant to live powerfully and luxuriously, but no," he turned back to watching the sun set over a hill of clouds far beneath him, "no, only I was meant to have power. Their power is mine. All power is mine."

The elevator stopped, abruptly at the top floor, and another guide greeted them with a near manic smile. As Vecino passed the offended guard, he leaned close to his ear, "And now I shall live forever." The guard shuddered, but the other, equally disdainful of the god in their presence lifted his sunglasses, put a hand on his shoulder, and winked.

The party entered a room through automatic doors, and the air was sterile, silent. Doctors, surgeons, and assistants stood around an operating table, smiling. This procedure would bring on a new age of humanity, of eternal life. Vecino was laid on the operating table and given an anesthetic. The first guard tried his best to look emotionless as the god closed his eyes just as they rolled upwards, his hands clumped in confident fists, but the other constantly was checking his watch. He checked it more and more frequently as the operation began, and finally, he turned and smiled to his colleague, and laughed out loud.

The first was a little uneasy, and smiled back warily. Just then he was thrown off balance by a tremendous sound that seemed to rip the air into shreds, a truly terrific noise, followed by more of the same volume. There was a small amount of panic, but no alarms or systems came on. Another explosion and the lights went out, so that there was only the dimness of the sunset peeking into the room. The doctors and assistants, stood shaking and terrified, and then it happened: the clouds began to shift, until they were vertical, and they were all in freefall with the building. The top quarter of the building dove like a piece of cod into the steaming clouds. The second guard propelled himself to the operating table, pulling the other guard along. They stood there, watching god in his deep sleep, and then pushed him hard towards the ground, and he hit the shatterproof glass, that cracked in a web-like pattern around him.

The god opened his eyes slowly, his mind dumbed by the anesthetic, so the shock crept through him slowly, face pressed to the glass watching it all end, passing other skyscrapers full of clueless patrons and commoners. He turned over to see his two trusted guards floating in freefall near the operating table. One just stared at him coldly, but the other drew his pistol, throwing off of his sunglasses and manically blinking at the pathetic god. All of the surgeons and nurses watched in horror, wincing as one shot plunged into Vecino. The god closed his eyes, pretended to be above pain. Two shots. Three shots. Vecino was biting his lip. The timid guard remembered everything the man had claimed.

"I don't need God, I am invincible," four shots, "I--", five shots, six shots, "shall live," seven shots, "forever." The pistol began clicking, expending the final seventh shot. Vecino died with a stupefied look on his face, as if the aesthetic brought out his true stubborness. His real failure. The piece of the building exploded into millions of shards as it struck another building, reeling wildly and then finishing in a fireball on the street. No one survived.

Months later, after the catastrophe was cleaned up, and, indeed, in that age, forgotten, one of those commoners stood. A long, gray beared was stiff in the hollow wind. Everything was gray, even the neon light lost their luster to the dust and specks of concrete and metal. Only a few vagrants and homeless scurried through the square, underneath the building that now fell just feet short of the mocking clouds.

He began shouting, and the poor gathered around him, "Here, man was put into his place, one glorified figure was put into place, yes... but this is a message to all of us," and here he produced a technological advancement from Vecino's own company, a sort of black box for elevators.

A voice began to play, crisply sounding through the rough static, "Here... yes... here we are above the heavens. Above lightning, above thunder--yes, here I am above the voice of God. What more, I am above God," the crowd listened intently. They all knew it was Vecino, he was present and foremost at every public announcement, on every radio wave and every television. "Well then I'll tell you why--they have no power. I--I have more power than you could ever imagine. The birth of every child, every financial transaction, every aspect of immigration to and from this country," the mob grew and grew, and the black box, without any altering by the old man, became louder and louder. Vecino's voice became ferocious, slavering and powerhungry, like a devil. "They're arrogant, they think they were meant to live powerfully and luxuriously, but no... no, only I was meant to have power. Their power is mine. All power is mine."

The people didn't say a word, there was only the thin, eerie static from the black box. One man started to speak, but the old, wise man held his hand over the crowd to be silent. Vecino had only muttered the line, in reality, but some mighty force amplified it into a sharp, menacing whisper, "And now I shall live forever." Each man, woman and child was like a ghost, silent, watching the black box, held over the old man's head with both hands.

The old man told the people to part, and they did. With strength not of his own he threw the box to the ground, it bounced and slid to a stop, "And now I shall live forever," it spoke again, voice venomous and vile.

The old man began to speak, voice ringing clearly, pressed by his fury but more by his triumph, "And now, we stand in the shadow of all that the evil man will ever amount to. The evil man will reach past the heavens, will desire all of the power in the world. Yes, today I can confidently tell you, that here we stand, in the shadow of the Tower of Babel."

Rain fell out of the sky in solid sheets, pounding the Earth. Sirens started up, sounding unnatural against the rhythm of the water falling from the sky, a dirge that sent the people scattering, but the old man stood defiantly. The police cars screeched to a stop, and the sirens wound down, so only the rain was heard for a moment before the car doors open and slammed. The old man held his hands above his head and willingly entered the back of one of the cars. "You're under arrest for public protest and defacement of a great figure," an officer said as the man was pressed into the car violently.

The cars tore off, disappearing into the wet city. The people came out from behind signs and corners and the little rubble left of the Tower of Babel, peering curiously from their hiding places. The black box sat in a puddle of rain at the foot of those long steps that led to the Claslowe Hotel and Casino, a small part of the former architectural masterpiece. Slowly the people gained the confidence to come closer to the symbol of evil, as if afraid to see if it might still be alive. Only a few brave commoners came to stand in a tight circle around the black box, tilting their heads and muttering under the rain, staring at the black box.

"And now I shall live for...ev..er..." the black box strained to spew out these final words, voice becoming bass and seemingly angry. A small boy, holding his father's hand, gained some courage and walked up to kick the black box and spit on it. His father held him up and hugged him, laughing. All the people began to laugh, shaking hands and nodding heads as the rain continued falling. One by one they returned to roaming the streets, the homeless and poor. Only they knew what really happened, even as the public newscast commemorated a great and mighty hero of modern society: Carlo Vecino, slain by an unexplainable, accidental explosion that destroyed the Claslowe Hotel and Casino.