illphated
The Martian Obelisks
The first Washington Monument rose on Mars as a symbol of Earth’s legacy. It stood alone for years, a lonely beacon on the rust-red plains, until the second one was built—taller, sleeker, glowing faintly under the neon haze of the Martian sky. Then came the third, a towering masterpiece of alien alloys and human ambition. Each new obelisk stretched higher than the last, reaching toward the swirling pink and purple heavens.
Now, the fourth was under construction. It would dwarf them all, piercing the thin Martian atmosphere, a testament to humanity’s relentless pursuit of the impossible. A fleet of spider-like drones scurried over its skeletal frame, welding and shaping its form under the watchful glow of neon billboards that floated in the sky. Below, the city of New Columbia buzzed with life—cybernetic workers, rogue AI traders, and dreamers who had fled Earth’s dying streets for the cold promise of Mars.
Lena stood on a hovering observation platform, staring up at the incomplete monument. She had been there since the first was built. “One day, we’ll have a fifth,” she murmured. “Then a sixth. Maybe one day, we’ll build one so high it touches the stars.”
Behind her, the city lights pulsed, and a crimson sandstorm began to rise in the distance. The obelisks stood tall, silent sentinels in the ever-growing Martian dream.