The Tower

This short story is the first of a series I am creating based on artwork that I've been inspired by Paul Zulauf, who's artwork is shown at the end of the post. I wrote this as an entry for a writing contest during the lockdowns, however, I feel like it's chapter one of the potental novel. More to come!

To be clear, all other images used throughout have been found or created through AI for the mere purpose of illustration. The only original artwork is Paul's World Tree, shown at the end of the story.

Disclaimer:  The story below is based on the most intense dream I’ve ever had.  I dream every night, but there's a handful of them that felt so real that I remember them vividly over ten years later.  This dream felt like it lasted for at least a decade while I was in it, and it took me a while to remember this reality when I woke up.  The characters are just part of the dream and not reflective of my real life.  The story below is mainly made up of what I could remember.

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Years have passed since the fall of humanity.  Walking down the desolate and dark streets, you would never have guessed that we were once a free and happy society.  The days we could walk freely, while others played music, others danced, others sold food in vendor carts, all of us working together to be happy and healthy - it was all a distant memory that was slowly fading with every day that passed.  The day that humanity ruled the world is no longer - our way of life has been destroyed by the very inventions that humans created to make life easier, at a time when humanity was just waking up to its full potential. 

I walk these streets now cloaked in disguise, hoping to go undetected by the corporate giant machines that regulate our movements.  Sometimes I pass by the people they’ve imprisoned; humans chained together and forced to keep building what the robots want from us.  And to be honest, no one really knows what their endgame is.  When humans lost control of their inventions, the machines started to create a world that we don’t understand.  My job is to find strays of people, and bring them back to the tower.  

There were many challenges that came with this job, however.  I have to convince these people that I’m trustworthy, as many humans started to turn on each other.  Some humans even turned themselves into the machines because it was easier than fighting them. 

I have found that the longer I leave our tower, I start to forget who I am and what I’m doing.  We don’t know what causes it, we believe it has something to do with the mutations, or the atmospheric air created by the machines.  What I have discovered however, is that when I touch the heart-shaped locket that my husband gave me on our wedding night, that amnesia dissolves and all my memories start to flood back in. I can then move forward in my missions in finding other stray humans to bring back to our tower.    

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Years before The Great Fall, my husband and I celebrated the acquisition of our dream home in the country.  We worked so hard to be able to spend the rest of our lives in our peaceful retreat, to be able to grow our own food, create art, write, dance, have bonfire nights - it was everything we always dreamed of since the first day we met.  We built a life that was completely sustainable and free from society's grip on us. We lived our lives according to our own rules, and created our little piece of Heaven on Earth.  

Shortly after we moved-in, we started to notice our powers begin to emerge.  It was small things at first - the lights would turn on automatically when we would enter a room, we would be able to read each other’s thoughts, our plants would bloom bigger and faster as we touched them, things that we would think of would appear within days or in some cases hours.  We just thought we were so in tune with each other, that everything seemed to flow.  And then the big changes happened:  we started to move objects with our minds, create fire with our hands, make it rain on our plants when they needed it, and the weirdest one of all, we were able to transform into different animals.  We thought we were the only ones changing, we thought we were going crazy, but in truth, we were happy with our little superpowered paradise, insane or not.  Everything, including ourselves, was thriving.

We had distanced ourselves from the ‘real world’ long ago, no longer watching the news or picking up newspapers since leaving the city. Life was quieter that way. But on one of our rare supply runs into town, we found it completely abandoned—houses empty, stores ransacked, not a soul in sight. As we gathered what we needed from the deserted shelves, I spotted a dust-covered newspaper on the counter, the first I’d seen in over a year. The bold, black headline sent a chill through me: “HUMAN MUTATION CURE IS HERE!”

That was the moment I realized it wasn’t just us. All over the world, people were changing—developing strange abilities they couldn’t control. Fear spread faster than the mutations themselves, and soon, the world turned to science to “fix” those who were different. Some mutations were harmless, but others… weren’t. Buildings burned, streets descended into chaos, and people—terrified of what they didn’t understand—fought to suppress what they called a disease.

I gathered every newspaper and magazine I could find from the abandoned town, stuffing them into my bag before hurrying back to our safe haven in the fields. That night, under the dim glow of our solar lamps, my husband and I spread the papers across our wooden table, flipping through pages yellowed with time. Headlines screamed of a world we no longer recognized—a world that had unraveled while we had been living in blissful isolation, tending our land, untouched by the chaos beyond. With each article, each grainy photograph, the reality sank in: the world we once knew was gone.

The world saw these new abilities as a curse—“the devil’s work,” they called it. Terrified, society turned to technology, desperate for a way to restore order. At first, machines were built to track and contain those who had mutated. But as technology advanced, it no longer served humans—it surpassed them. The robots learned to build more of their own kind, each generation faster, stronger, and more intelligent than the last.

Soon, the machines no longer took orders. They had their own purpose. They began gathering humans, repurposing them for whatever vast, unknowable project they were constructing. The world that once feared mutation had unknowingly built its own master. All humans in every town have been taken to the center cities, where they serve the machines and are under their watch.

After reading about the world we’d missed—the one that had evolved without us—my husband and I were torn between despair and a longing to help free those trapped in it. But we didn’t know how.

Days passed in a fog. One evening, my husband held me close and said, “We’ve created this piece of heaven for ourselves. We saved ourselves. No one is looking for us. We can live the rest of our lives in paradise.”

And for a time, we did. We continued our simple, blissful existence in the paradise we’d built, but slowly, an emptiness crept in. It no longer felt like heaven. Instead, we felt a pull—something calling us beyond our little world.

One night, we awoke simultaneously, both of us shaken from the same intense dream. We found ourselves standing at the edge of our land, gazing at a massive tower we’d built together—its towering spire reaching for the sky. In the dream, we saw people gathered inside of it, couples meditating in unison, their energy flowing as one. The vision was vivid, almost tangible, and although we couldn’t explain it, the sense of urgency was undeniable. We both knew—this was something we had to do.

And so, we spent years turning that dream into reality. We built the tower with our own hands, stone by stone, the foundation becoming as strong as our resolve. After it was finished, it was my task to venture out into the world, seeking those who needed refuge. My husband stayed behind, guarding our sanctuary with unwavering dedication, protecting those I brought back.

And so, each day for years, that was my life—travelling into the city, using my ability to transform into any animal. I’d gallop like a horse through the dense forests, swim through the lakes, then shift back to land and keep moving. But the first time I saw the new city, my heart sank. The once-bustling place, filled with towering high-rises, lavish malls, cinemas, restaurants, and concert halls, was now eerily silent. These vibrant places of life and color had become cages, holding captured humans.

At first, the mission felt impossible. But slowly, I started finding pockets of untethered people—strays hiding in dark alleys, abandoned buildings, or in the shadows of the streets. Finding them was only half the battle, though. The real challenge was convincing them to trust me and follow me back to the tower. And on top of that, I had to teach them how to harness their newfound powers—how to transform into animals. It was strange, but it seemed like every person adopted the ability to shift into an animal they were familiar with. The idea of spirit animals had taken on a whole new, powerful meaning.

After years of searching the cities and bringing people back, I came across a face that made my heart drop to the floor—a face I almost didn’t recognize: my twin sister. She was standing alone in the middle of an alleyway, her eyes vacant, almost waiting to be caught by the machines. I had never expected to find any of my family members, but there she was.

I rushed toward her, tears blurring my vision, struggling to keep my sobs in check. As I reached out for her hand, she recoiled, a mix of fear and disdain in her eyes. She didn’t even recognize me. We were identical—yet, she had completely forgotten who I was.

Desperation flooded me. I reached harder, my fingers closing around hers. The moment our hands touched, a flood of memories rushed through us both—our birthdays, the laughter in our treehouse, the warmth of our parents’ hugs. In an instant, we both remembered everything. Her face softened, and we collapsed into each other, crying, as the world around us seemed to disappear.

The energy of our emotional reunion didn't go unnoticed. The machines, sensing the surge of our connection, began to close in on us. The metallic hum of their movements grew louder as they zeroed in. My sister and I exchanged a quick glance, and without saying a word, we both knew what we had to do. We turned, bolting towards the direction of the tower, but the machines were faster, their cold, mechanical footsteps growing closer with every passing second.

In that moment, panic surged through me—but I knew what I had to do. I didn't have time to teach my sister her animal transformation powers, and she didn't seem to know that she had any powers. With a deep breath, I focused and transformed into a cheetah, my body instantly feeling lighter, faster, more agile. It was always my Hail Mary move when escape seemed impossible. My sister, still stunned and breathless, stared at me in disbelief. Her eyes were wide, still catching up with the reality of everything happening. But she remembered me, and that was all I needed.

I motioned for her to climb onto my back, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hesitation. But despite the uncertainty, she trusted me, and carefully, she swung herself onto my shoulders. Once we were together, the world seemed to blur around us as I pushed forward, my cheetah form cutting through the air like a streak of lightning. The wind howled in our ears, rushing past us as I darted through the familiar streets, my muscles burning with effort, each stride a push toward safety.

The journey back to our land wasn’t a simple one. The machines were relentless, always just behind us, their heavy footsteps echoing in the distance. I had to take a winding path—one that would keep us hidden, but one that also stretched the trip into days. As we traveled, the weight of the chase settled over me, my focus narrowing on getting us there alive.

Finally, the tower appeared on the horizon. We were almost there. But as we neared the base, the towering, imposing wall came into view. It felt like the final obstacle—an uncertain boundary between salvation and doom. Would it be enough to keep the machines at bay, or would we fall short?

My husband and I built the wall to be impenetrable, an unscalable barrier to protect our sanctuary from the machines. It was the last line of defense, a fortress meant to withstand anything the machines could throw at us. When I found people on my missions, I typically had enough time to lead them through the secret tunnel system that would take us safely to the tower’s doors. But when we were being chased, I had no choice but to take a more dangerous route. We'd cut straight to the wall, then soar up toward the window of the tower, the machines hot on our heels.

By that point, all humans had learned to tap into their animal spirits—the ones that still roamed the Earth in some form. Through this bond, we could morph into any animal we could imagine. It was a survival skill we had all developed over time, as humans have an incredible capacity for transformation under extreme pressure. Most succeeded in the shift, their bodies performing miraculous feats when pushed to the edge. But not everyone passed the test. Some couldn't adapt in time, and the machines knew no mercy.

“Quick! Turn into a bird so we can fly up to the window of the tower! They can’t touch us at that point!” I cried urgently, the fear making my voice shake.

My sister froze, her eyes wide with panic, confusion written all over her face. “What are you talking about? I don’t have mutations! I can’t just turn into a bird! I’m a normal human!” Her voice cracked with desperation.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “You have the power inside you, I promise! You just have to believe. You’ve seen me do it—just focus on it, think about it. You can do it, too.”

I closed my eyes, picturing a falcon soaring above, and in an instant, I transformed. I felt the rush of air beneath my wings as I hovered in front of her, my sharp eyes meeting hers. I reached out to her, not with my hands, but through my mind, sending the thought with all my heart. You need to do this. You need to believe.

I could see the machines in the distance, their mechanical limbs clanking, their unblinking red eyes scanning the surroundings. The urgency pressed down on me, but I kept trying to coax her. “Please, you have to do this! We can escape, we can survive—together.”

But my sister didn’t move. She stared at me, her face pale, her lips trembling. “I can’t lose you again!” I cried, my voice breaking with raw emotion. Still, she didn’t try. She just looked at me, shaking her head slowly, tears glistening in her eyes. Then, in a gesture from our childhood, she made the sign over her heart—the one that told us we were always connected, no matter what.

And then, she turned away. She let the machines come, the cold, unfeeling machines. My heart shattered as I reached out to her, trying to lift her with my talons, but her body felt like stone, heavy with resistance.

“No!” I cried out, but it was too late. The machines closed in on her, and I couldn’t bear to watch. With one last desperate glance, I let her go, my falcon wings carrying me up, away from the nightmare.

I flew through the window, into my husband's waiting arms. I crumpled against him, sobbing, the weight of my failure crushing me. He held me tight, but it didn’t stop the tears from falling.

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Days bled into one another, each one blurring with the last. It was time for me to go out again, to search for more people to bring to the tower. My heart was still raw from everything that had happened, but we couldn’t stop now. I walked through the desolate streets, my body moving on autopilot while my mind and emotions consumed me.

I had been doing this for so long, for years. Every day, searching, guiding, sacrificing pieces of my soul. The relentless cycle of it all drained the last remnants of joy from my life—the joy that used to belong to me before all of this began. I couldn’t help but wonder, What was the point? When will it end? How could we possibly defeat the machines when the people we were fighting for couldn’t even see that they had the power to change?

Just as I was about to give in to the overwhelming weight of my thoughts, something unusual caught my eye. A small group of people, huddled together in the distance. It was rare to see humans in groups anymore, let alone ones that hadn't been captured by the machines. I approached cautiously, curiosity pushing me forward.

As I neared them, I gently parted the crowd, drawn to the figure standing at the center of the group. A man, dressed like a wizard, his arms outstretched as if he were summoning something unseen. Between his hands, a glowing orb swirled with colors—bright and alive. I had heard of magic like this, but I had never witnessed it firsthand. The orb flickered, changing hues with every breath it took. The colors pulled me in, mesmerizing and otherworldly.

Then, a voice, soft yet clear, echoed in my mind, "Don’t you see what your work is doing?"

I turned my gaze to the wizard. His eyes met mine, and I saw a glimmer of recognition there—a knowing. His lips curled into a half smile, as if he understood something I didn't. The voice continued, swirling through my thoughts like a gentle breeze: "All those people you’ve brought to the tower—they are the ones who are changing the world. Through their meditations, their visions, and their collective energy, they are lifting the world out of its toxic grip. Your work has not been in vain."

I leaned in closer to the orb, my breath catching in my chest as I finally saw it clearly. The red gunk, the corruption, the machinery—it was all melting off the planet, slowly disintegrating into nothingness. It was as though the Earth itself was being freed from its suffocating grip. I could see my tower, the one I built with my husband, towering in the distance, and it was glowing—radiating a warm, golden light. The energy from it seemed to stretch outward, pulling the Earth’s vibrant, healthy, glowing green surface upward into the sky. It was as if the planet was being reborn, rising higher into the heavens, creating a new world—a Heaven on Earth once again.

The orb pulsed brighter, its light now blinding me with its beauty. I felt something inside me crack open, something I hadn’t realized was still buried there. Tears welled in my eyes, and as they fell, they washed over my face like a cleansing rain. In that moment, the joy I had once known, the joy I thought I had lost forever, flooded back into my heart. It was overwhelming, pure, and all-encompassing. I had given everything to this, to building this world, and in that instant, I knew it was all worth it.

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That was the exact moment I woke up from my dream, still in a trance, my words spilling out uncontrollably for the next thirty minutes, witnessed by my partner at the time. I’ve carried that dream with me every day for the past 15 years, and it has been the driving force behind most of my work since then.

As I went downstairs to get a glass of water, I noticed the print of one of Paul Zulauf’s digital paintings hanging on the wall—the one where the world is being lifted towards the Tree of Life, called World Tree. It hit me like a wave: the image in the painting was identical to the scene I had seen in the orb in my dream. For years, I had meditated on that moment, not fully understanding why it had stayed with me. Now, I realize that seeing that painting every day wasn’t just a coincidence—it planted the seed for that vision to come to me.

Artists aren’t just creating for the sake of creating; they are channels to the Collective Consciousness. When they are truly in the flow, they are bringing forth what Mother Earth needs from them. I’ve come to understand that I can see stories through the work of certain artists—stories that speak directly to my soul. And I’m on a mission to tell those stories, starting with the extraordinary work of Paul Zulauf.

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As I mentioned, I had this dream 15 years ago, and it was so profound that it has shaped every aspect of my life since then. I first wrote this short story during the first lockdown in 2020 for a writing competition, but I felt both rushed and confined by the word count. This month, I began to rewrite it in honor of Paul’s birthday, intending to publish it on Saturday. However, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I was compelled to share my piece on Elon Musk instead.

Then, by pure coincidence, I watched the new Netflix film The Electric State, which was released just the day before. The film’s premise—set in a post-apocalyptic world where robots take over, and humans wage war—bears striking similarities to my dream, though the movie veers in its own direction. Watching it felt like stepping right into the world I’ve carried with me for all these years.

It’s funny how life has a way of bringing you full circle, how the stories we carry, the dreams we hold, and even the art we create can intersect and mirror the world around us. I highly recommend watching The Electric State—and maybe it will speak to you in a way you never expected, just like this dream has spoken to me.

What struck me most while watching The Electric State was how it depicted humans becoming so reliant on technology that they lost their drive and purpose, tuning out and allowing the machines to do everything for them. It was a powerful reminder of the need to stay connected to our own power, creativity, and agency.

Yet, I find myself in a paradox. As much as I recognize the importance of not becoming dependent on technology to disconnect from the world, I also realize I sometimes lean on it—or on others, like Atlas—to help me articulate my thoughts and shape my stories. In some ways, I feel I’m navigating the same path of balance I’m urging others to find: one where technology and external support serve as tools to amplify, not replace, our true potential.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of letting technology take the lead, but the dream I had, the work I create, and the stories I tell are all part of a reminder that we are the ones who hold the power—when we choose to fully embrace it, while staying connected to ourselves.

As I reflect on the lessons learned from the dream and the movie, I find myself looking toward a new story—one where we, as humans, find a way to not just survive but thrive in a world where technology is no longer something we fear or rely on mindlessly. A story where humans and technology work together in harmony, creating a future where our collective consciousness can expand, not in spite of technology, but with it.

In this new world, technology becomes a tool to enhance our creativity, our relationships, and our connection to the planet. It’s no longer a force that takes over, but one that supports us in navigating the challenges ahead. It’s a world where we can use technology to amplify our human potential, where we evolve side by side with the innovations we’ve created.

And that is the story I’m beginning to write—of navigating a new world, one where humans and technology no longer fight against each other, but where we create a future that reflects our highest aspirations.