Chapter Three

On a long enough scale, everything crumbles ...

I walk past the same pile of rubble everyday. I wouldn't be surprised if I kicked the same rock into the rubble everyday also. Same fucking rock.

I chuckle at that. Spirits, I'm losing my mind. Slowly, but surely, I am losing my mind. I'm OK with it though.

Become a drone that doesn't think. Dream. Remember.

That would be good.

Like clockwork I stop at the same field of rubble I stop at everyday. Even the days I'm not working, I stop by.

I lean against the fence that surrounds this block of rubble. Well, at least the plants growing in the rubble like the sun. Then again, they're plants, what do they know?

The plants are the reason there's a fence around this block. That, and I asked them not to raze this block. I just wanted to see what the plants could do against the rubble.

Slowly, but inexorably, they're pushing through the rubble, adding more green to this district everyday. I suppose there's a metaphor or allegory in there somewhere, but, I don't really care.

I was intrigued by the whole thing, so I asked the project manager if they could raze this block last or not at all. It turns out, I have more clout than I thought.

Comes with being one of the heroes of the galaxy.

I don't feel like a hero. I … don't feel anything, really.

Except for these weeds. These stupid fucking weeds.

Then one day, on the way to work, I happened across the project foreman, and asked if this block could be razed last. He just looked at me as if I were daft, which might be true.

"Why?" He'd asked.

"I'm not sure, just, … if you could. I would appreciate it."

"And you are?"

"Garrus Vakarian."

"Uh-huh. Right. Sure, Mr Vakarian." He shook his head, and walked off.

Then about a week later, he comes running up to me.

"Ser Vakarian." Ser? Now I'm Ser?

"Per your request, this block ..." He waved his arms across the debris. "It's been given park status."

Per my request. I don't recall that.

I took his name, and thanked him.

Later that night, in a fit of logic only a large quantity of alcohol can induce, I threw the plaque with Shepard's name on it, into the 'park'. I thought she should see it.

And, I want as few reminders of her as possible. I have enough in my head, I don't need anymore.

A few days later, someone had affixed it to the fence. Then, in true Turian fashion, it had been proposed, codified, and labeled accordingly.

Now it's an official park. Beautiful fence, professional sign-age, even a car park.

I just wanted to see what the plants could do with the detritus of war, and fifteen-thousand years of civilization.

I prefer this to all the statues. It just seems, … more like her.

A statue is a representation of her, or what she represents to someone, or what they want her to represent. It's based on someones interpretation of her.

No, I prefer the constant struggle of the plants versus the rubble. There's your allegory. Metaphor. Whatever.

What-fucking-ever.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think.

Thanks again.