I sit next to the god of War.
His shoulders are slumped forward, eyes heavy, he runs his fingers through his grey beard.
The older I get, the more I want to wake up in Paris.. Walk the streets for a day or two.
His gaze moves up to the Eiffel Tower.
That…that tower. That’s mine, you know? That’s my spear, a missile, a sword. Not many people know that. But, really, it over looks my fields.
Domination and protection. Information spread to the masses.
He sighs and looks up the tower.
This structure is charged. Lots of energy has been poured into it. Your people used it as a symbol during war. The Tri-colour coming down, the Nazi Swastika going up. The liberation of Paris and the Tri-colour flying once again.
All the daredevils and their acrobats and bungee chords.
It’s better if we don’t mention that Austrian Reichelt.
Ah, but don’t you love the small cafes and the rainy days? In Paris, it’s like the world stands still…breathes…glows.
He looks tired, his words are quiet and roll from his mouth slowly.
But really…the tower is a symbol of peace. A symbol of war that has ended, a war that has resulted in everlasting peace.
It may just be a wish…a dream…
But when you see the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, shining over the Fields of Mars, it’s like a beacon…it even makes my old heart warm. You see it covered in a white halo and it makes all other days feel wrong…just that one night in Paris.
Maybe I’ve just been away for too long.
A dog comes over to us and he scratches it behind the ear, ruffling its fur.
It’s evening in Paris now. Laughter trickles down the street accompanied by busker music.
The sky is slowly becoming darker and the tower lights up.
The god of war lets a content sigh slip and smiles.
The only thing war has ever been good for is to restore peace. This beauty cannot exist without peace…and who would dare want to lose this beauty?