After Sesame Street taught me about the hanging gardens, I was consumed with the need to rebuild Babylon.
A new dynasty.
My big brother played the Oracle, and manifested the garden from long tangles of ivy. He looked into his magic fishbowl and foreshadowed the bitter destruction of my empire.
I banished him to the mountains for such heresy– but only days later, found myself buried under rotted ivy and collapsed sofa pillows.
The fallen walls screamed with rage at the evidenced prophesy, but the gardens simply continued to hum an echo of inevitable quietus.
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Trifecta Submission for Week 99 : Have you participated yet? http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/2013/10/trifecta-week-ninety-nine.html
