He knew it was too good to be true when everything was going perfectly. Then it wasn’t: the tower collapsed with him in the midst of it. And it all made sense.
For several weeks, he would either sit amongst the debris or somewhere near the broken pieces of concrete where he could glimpse both the destruction and the sun falling down on the horizon. Sometimes he would be bold enough to sit closer to the sea, letting the waves wash over him, wiping the tears on his face. (After which he’d lie down farther from what used to be the tower).
Sometimes you can see him right at the center of the broken edifice instead: arrogant and lifeless, he would inspect the remains and laugh or scoff at the brittleness of concrete.
“Oh! What life did anyone expect from such a wretched place?”
Then he called himself the Fool: the Fool who could have been the Emperor.
“…if only.”
His laugh could be heard from a mile away, but he wondered if it was loud enough to hide the regret.
There was a cave on the island where he used to sleep before the tower existed. He went back there a month after the fall and stayed for weeks. There was nothing but leftover wood from the last time he made a fire. It was enough: he needed only sleep.
He stayed there until daytime can make his eyes hurt, until leaving the cave could blind him temporarily.
One day he passed by the place where the tower used to be. Just that: passed by. He hadn’t noticed it. It was still there because nobody bothered to clean up the debris, but he hadn’t noticed. Not until he realized that he didn’t. Only the day before was he thinking of finally cleaning it up as his final act of service to what was a promising nothing. It was supposed to be a place of enduring warmth and security (the tides often get wild in that area) but it endured nothing. The tides were low when the destruction happened and he was expecting a tsunami.
He turned around and walked back to the spot he missed. It wasn’t the same tower. It was a sandcastle he built one lonely summer as a trap: he needed help burying fishbones and fruit skins. He started the sandcastle but left it with his rubbish when a boy came to help. He left without a word.
That too was the sound the tower made before it collapsed.
Sounds of laughter. Silence.