Purpose

The building looked bleak. Gray. An office building whose purpose was simply and entirely for work. Nothing more, nothing less. Just work. What was the purpose in working? One works his entire life just to end up going to the same fate as every other person on this planet. The building had several windows; windows had multiple functions if you think of the properly. Its bricks were made of stone, marbled, and swirled as though to make the building seem more refined, more sophisticated, in a sense.

The building looked beautiful. The way the sun shone on the windows, reflecting the clear, blue sky. The birds building a nest in one of the windowsills, ready to start a family. The swirl of the marble made the building seem as though anything were possible, as though two completely separate things could mold together and become one. There were people in this building, each living their own little life. People spent time building this building, time that was special and useful and could have been used on other things. But this building still remains here. Structurally sound. Structurally built on promises and hope that it would be used for something great. That the offices inside and the business dealings would benefit the world in some way, shape, or form.

There was no purpose to this building existing. There are thousands of other buildings in the world. If one were to knock down this building and build an even greater one in its place, one might not even notice. The building to the left of it looks just as grey, just as bleak, as if they were all in uniform together. As if the architects designing them commanded the construction workers to build them this way. But if one fell by some sort of unearthly catastrophe, would one even notice? Would it make a difference if one building in uniformity was destroyed?