The first they knew about it was the creak. An air-shattering sound, painful on the ears. The kind of noise that sent a chill through the depths of the soul. Something was not right. Just as everything seemed to be going so well. Another creak, louder, more guttural, yet shrill; a rift in humanity, as if the world were cracking in two. And then the first signs of dust in the air, followed by a few fragments in the sunlight. Then a half brick, one which struck one of the builders squarely on top of the skull. Dazed the poor man fell the distance, from the top to the bottom, breaking both legs in the fall. Those that heard his screams would have remembered them for a long time. Had they not been killed soon after. More bricks began to fall taking more bodies with them. The unthinkable was happening. The unbreakable was collapsing. This tower, this epitaph to man’s greatness, this union of nations, was coming apart, killing the architects as it fell. The godless dream was suddenly over, in a mushroom cloud of dust, and a patchwork of dark spilt blood. The people would need a whole other way to reach heaven. A Jacob’s ladder perhaps, in the form of a cross.