The Tower holds the Key

The lock was heavy, rusted around the hole, burnt around the edges. Yet if you blew at it, the rust would fly away flapping its wings, complaining in a hoarse accent, and the lock would be silver and gold, gleaming, shimmering, shining. It had been around for millennia, it had been around before locks were first invented. This was the first, this was not the cause, but once it had entered existence, it entered the collective conscious of all living beings, all things must. From then on, it was only a short few decades before “the first lock” was invented. All things come in a circle. Nothing matters. Living in a simulation, different versions of the same singular consciousness: what does it matter which is true? Life is a series of endless accidents, all driving home the point that we are not in fact drivers of the seats of destiny, that Predestination has taken the wheel and as she looks back at us, cowering in our seats, she smiles her hideous smile, her black cloak shivering and sneering.

The lock was plain enough, you could not tell that anything was special about it. No more than the tower it was in. simple, stone, still standing. Yet in this age of steel and data, one should wonder why it still existed. Why it stood when things as mighty as the Amazon rainforest had been razed, things as vast as the ice caps had melted. It stood tall as it had done for so many years, as it would continue to do for millennia onwards. A moat surrounded it, smelling of salty ocean water, and yet no one would bother to wonder at this curiosity, so many thousands of miles from the nearest ocean, such was the power of the tower. The tower was singular, just one, the turret on top spewing water, a huge fountain. Day in and day out it spat water, yet those who saw it, a very select number were fortunate enough, their minds seemed to zone out, and forget. Seemed to become dull, and some of the sharpest minds had found this place, seemed to become dull and stop that reasoning which is unique to the race of beings that declared themselves caliphs on this rock floating in the vastness of space. 

The story had begun with an apple and a hand tempted. A blissful existence turned into a dual drama of comedy and horror. Cast down from the skies, the tale left to be real only in books. Fading from the minds of humans, turning into myth and legend.

This tower and lock had been present from the beginning, were the center of the universe, for those who chose to see, none did. They had witnessed the human race turn from simple minded dimwits to those who thought themselves intellectuals, to creatures of bone, blood, and bronze. Had witnessed the race live in harmony with the other creatures, to slowly pushing them off the map. Had witnessed and recorded. One question these creatures had never forgotten. Their books told them, something they now believed was fiction. And yet. The tower held the key.