The old building stood, near the old Thames that was filled with trash. No more silvery windows or metal beams stood out amongst the grey, empty husk of the once-great, once-iconic landmark. Now it just stood, as a pathetic shadow of the pickle-shaped structure that had loomed majestically over the London skyline.
The Gherkin, once a great tower where people had hung out and watched the wonders of London life. The top level, once a world-renowned bar where every adult had gone to drink at least once in their life, was shattered. Now, no-one went to the Gherkin except the street urchins, hoping to make money off the rich, spoilt Londoners who came to weep at the devastated remains of the building.
London wasn’t a place for rich, pleasant towers any more. If the Gherkin was still in its prime, a vast, blue and silver tower would have been seen as an extravagant showing-off of riches by the powers that were.
The metal had been ripped off the beams, stolen by those who thought they could use it for better things that a huge, pointless tower in Central London. The Guilds were scavengers when it came to the ex-landmarks of London. They tore off material from the structure and used it for their machines, exhibits or just pretty things to look at.
No-one cares about the shell any more. It’s now just a bunch of metal beams, clattering and creaking and cracking in wind, rusted to disintegration by rain. The weather is as cruel as time to the Gherkin, now that a strong enough wind could bring it crashing down on London’s head. Thunderstorms send rattles and electricity through its rusty, outdated metalwork.
It was as though Time itself had set off a bomb to destroy all that was a great thing that made London good and popular, and the Gherkin had been caught in its blast. It had seen better centuries than this, barely managing to stay intact and upright on its dilapidated foundations. Time had indeed been cruel – it had turned the magnificent, awe-inspiring, majestic Pickle into a piece of trash that had been tossed cruelly onto the streets of London by some evil demolitions expert. Its legacy all but forgotten, the Gherkin is ruined.