The Deconstructionist

THE DECONSTRUCTIONIST

Andy Harper drank in the world he’d wrought. The spires of massive skyscrapers pierced the clouds and gouged the ionosphere. Far below, the tangle of glass and steel stretched across the landscape. The streets that had once connected the buildings were no longer necessary. The roads had simply been swallowed up as the structures grew, the bulk of each tower melting into the next until all were united. Vacant, the rows of buildings stood sentry over what few patches of bare space remained below. All was silent until Andy’s mutter of disgust.

It’s gone stale? Already?

He waved his hand and let it all dissolve. As the structures had been built, they vanished, their outlines shimmering while the molecules composing them lost their solidity and came apart. Dozens of miles of metropolis were reduced to a vacant lot in a matter of seconds. Only a few places that held the essentials of life were allowed to remain behind. Andy sat and rested his narrow chin on his knuck